


before you come for me

by mieraspeller



Series: AU Fluff 'Verse [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, College, Established Relationship, Family, Friendship, Hunters, Lies, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-24 04:57:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mieraspeller/pseuds/mieraspeller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Stiles finds out about werewolves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friday, March 14, 2014

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series, and will probably make more sense if you read the others first. 
> 
> If anyone has any suggestions for further tags and/or warnings, please let me know!
> 
> ETA: This has been read through several times but not really beta'd, but if you see any mistakes, please let me know!
> 
> Title from "The King And All of His Men" by Wolf Gang

“Hey!” someone yells as Stiles is about to swipe his card to get into his dorm building. They aren’t supposed to let anyone without a card in, but Stiles really just wants to get up to his room and grab his stuff so he can head home, and not deal with an argument over holding a door. Glancing over his shoulder, he sighs and pushes the door open, waiting as the guy jogs over. He thinks he vaguely recognizes him from PHIL 102, but Stiles is pretty sure they’ve never spoken.

“Go ahead,” he says, as the guy stops in front of him with an uncertain smile. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, which Stiles has never seen Derek in, but for some reason when the guy tilts his head it reminds Stiles of him. Maybe it’s that weird sniffing thing that Derek does. Like he has perpetual allergies, even though he claims not to have any. Despite the fact that the first time Derek visited Stiles at his dorm Stiles ended up throwing a box of tissues at his head because Derek’s constant sniffing was getting on his nerves. 

“Are you a Hale?” the guy asks, instead of going in, and Stiles can feel his eyebrows go up. “I’m Mica Keaton.”

“Um. No? I’m a Stilinski.”

The guy, Mica, gives him an unimpressed look. “You’re from Beacon Hills, right? With Derek Hale?”

Stiles knows he probably looks like his eyebrows are trying to escape his face by now and his mouth is hanging open unattractively, but he’s just been accosted by a random who apparently knows his out of towner boyfriend. He shuffles his feet a bit, not sure if he should answer yes or not. But Mica is apparently not a patient guy, and he just rolls his eyes and shoves an envelope at Stiles.

“Whatever, just give this to him, Anna has some updates for the truce pact in Chico territory,” he says, and jogs off when Stiles accepts the envelope.

His first instinct is to open it, but it’s sealed and he knows that Derek will find out. Somehow. He will know. The guy has enough trust issues already, Stiles isn’t about to add himself to the list. Instead he finds himself pulling out his phone and calling Derek before he even makes a conscious decision to do so.

Seriously, truce pact? Territories? What the hell? 

Stiles is many things, but unobservant is not one of them. He’s been watching Derek on and off since grade school. If it hadn’t inadvertently landed him a boyfriend then he might feel creepier about it. Anyways, Derek can out-creep Stiles without even trying. Now that Stiles is allowed to be up close and personal with Derek -- encouraged, even -- he notices things that long distance observation never told him. As far as Stiles saw _then_ , Derek was quiet, with few breaks in temper unless it was about his family. He saw the Hales at the county fair one year, and discovered that Derek had killer aim. Which had fueled some frankly embarrassing daydreams about Derek winning Stiles all the stuffed animals, but he was eleven, okay? He noticed Derek’s increasingly infrequent smile, and his body. Especially when he was twelve and managed to talk his way into one of Derek’s swim meets. That had been his gold standard for masturbatory fantasies for ages.

The point is that Stiles knows a lot more about Derek’s idiosyncrasies now then he did back when he was on the fringes of Derek’s life. And Derek has a lot of them. Stiles was prepared for weirdness, because he’s spent roughly ten years with the idea of Derek floating around in his brain, and he knows by now that when he gets things that he really wants there’s always a catch. 

“Hey,” Derek answers in the voice he only uses when there’s no one else around, and Stiles abruptly wishes he wasn’t walking through the lobby of his dorm. Maybe if Derek can explain this they can fit in phone sex before Stiles leaves, but he is, for once, not in the mood.

“Hi,” Stiles says. He decides to skip the stairs today and pushes the elevator button. “So, I met your friend Mica today.”

Derek clenches his teeth. Audibly. He can practically hear Derek forcibly calming himself down.

“He gave me an envelope for you,” Stiles adds helpfully, because it sounds like it might take Derek a minute to remember how to use his words. “And said something about --” he has to stop to get into the elevator, and spares a moment to hope he doesn’t lose signal. At least it’s empty.

“About?” Derek asks. He probably meant for it to sound calm or careless, but if Stiles could see him, he’s sure Derek would be tense and poised for movement.

“You’re doing the serial killer eyebrow thing again,” Stiles says. Derek sighs loudly and Stiles grins at his reflection in the elevator wall. “Okay, fine. So he said something about updating the truce pact for Chico territory. Is that some kind of code?” Stiles has a horrible thought and it tumbles out of his mouth before he can think better of it. “Oh my god, was I just part of a drug deal? Not cool, dude!” Derek tries to say something, but Stiles is on a roll. “Is your family like the California Mob, because that would explain so --” he cuts himself off at the offended noise he hears Derek make.

“How would that -- explain what?” Derek says, voice hurt, and Stiles winces. The elevator doors open to his floor and he steps out lowering his voice as he passes a couple of open doors, hurrying to his own room.

“Uh, nothing,” he tries, fumbling with his keys to get into his room. Mikey’s already left for the week, thankfully, but Derek is still waiting. “Fine, sometimes your family is a little... intimidating. And your Grandmother is like the head honcho, telling everyone what to do, and I’ve never met half of your family, and that time you went to beat up your sister because you thought --”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts, sounding pained. “We’re not the _mob_. It’s just -- a joke. Pretty much everyone in my family went to school there, and Mica’s has as well, so we have a long history. It’s probably just something for Mark.”

Stiles pulls his phone back to squint at it warily. Derek’s explanation is even less believable than the time he tried to claim that Amy is the one who tore the leather seat cover in his car. With what, exactly, he would like to know. She’s eleven and she doesn’t exactly have fingernails of steel. But Derek sounds earnest, so Stiles brings the phone back and says, “Fine. But you know my dad will kneecap you if you hurt me. And he’s been in a bad mood with all those break-ins around town. So you better not decide I know too much.” He’s joking now. Mostly.

“What time will you be back?”

“Um, around six?”

“I’ll meet you at your house,” Derek says and hangs up before Stiles can argue. He thinks briefly about calling Derek back, but he’s found it’s easier to talk his way around when Derek can’t hang up on him. Anyway, his phone rings again before he can.

“Hey, dude,” Stiles says, tossing the envelope on his bed. There's an influx of words immediately, so fast that Stiles can barely understand them. “Scott, slow down, man--”

“I have to work all week!” Scott finally calms down enough to spit out. 

“What? We were supposed to hang out this week,” Stiles complains. “Remember how I wanted to go to Mexico for Spring Break? I didn’t go because of you! I could have been in Puerto Vallarta!” 

Scott laughs and Stiles huffs as he drags out his duffel. “Dude, there’s no way you wouldn’t have gone home, even without me there. Unless you were gonna take your dad and Derek to Mexico with you.” 

He’s right, but Stiles doesn’t have to like it. Scott barrels on before Stiles can even start laying his case. 

“And now Allison is going home without me and I’m stuck here!”

“You’ll see Allison soon, dude, chill out,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes and adjusting his phone between his shoulder and ear when Scott whines. “I know, it’s really terrible that you have to be separated from her for a whole week.”

“Will you hang out with her?”

“Really, Scott? You want me to spy on your girlfriend for you?” Stiles shoves the rest of his clothes in the duffel bag, laughing when Scott backpedals frantically.

“Dude. No. She just doesn’t know a lot of people in town, and you guys are friends, right?” Stiles considers this. He talked to Allison in person over winter break, and a few times when she was over while he was on Skype with Scott. They even texted occasionally.

“Sure,” Stiles shrugs.

“Everyone else is in Cancun or whatever for Spring Break, and you guys are in Beacon Hills. So you should hang out.” 

“Okay,” Stiles says, shrugging again because he has a point, and then has to scramble to catch his phone.

Scott is saying something when he finally gets it back to his ear, but Stiles just catches, “...her know! Thanks, man!” before Scott hangs up.

“Ooookay,” Stiles says and zips up his duffel and hauls it and his backpack to the hall, locking the door and mentally preparing himself for the long trek to the Resident parking roughly a million miles away, unlike the Seniors resident parking right in front of the dorms.

His dad calls him when he’s on the outskirts of Beacon Hills, letting him know that Mark’s wife went into labor and so he was covering his night shift. He sounds guilty, so Stiles tells him he’ll save the lasagna for Saturday night, and that they have the rest of the week to hang out. And to make sure and knock before he comes in to Stiles’ room.

“Don’t worry, I bought a super size box of condoms,” he adds and grins when his dad groans.

“Stiles,” his dad says, half scolding. He’s laughing a little bit, too, though, so Stiles counts it as a win. “See you tomorrow. You’re making me bacon for breakfast to make up for this.”

“Sure, turkey bacon and egg white omelettes, bright and early,” Stiles says, and hangs up before his dad can argue. He’s starting to see the appeal of winning arguments that way. Which reminds him to call Derek and let him know that his dad will be gone all night. He doesn’t answer, so Stiles ends up rambling into his voicemail until it hangs up on him.

 

++

 

Derek is shaken when he gets off the phone with Stiles. For Mica, who’s about as observant as a brick, to have made a connection between them, means the other supernaturals on campus already know. And if they don’t Mica will tell them within a week. He has to pull over to lean against his steering wheel and take a few deep breaths to keep from destroying something.

Being connected to Derek will only put Stiles in danger.

(He knows this isn’t entirely true -- there are humans in his pack. But they know about werewolves, obviously, and know how to protect themselves if the pack isn’t around to do it.)

Finally he’s able to start his car again, driving aimlessly now, instead of back to his parent’s. The the good mood he’d had all day over Stiles coming back is gone. Stiles will be home in a few hours and Derek -- even though he knows it would be safer, he can’t even bring himself to think of breaking up with Stiles. But he really can’t help but picture the expression on Stiles’ face -- hurt, maybe, fear and disgust -- if Derek could tell him. He knows he’s being selfish. He’s putting Stiles’ life at risk, and he can’t bring himself to put Stiles ahead of his own wants. Which makes it even worse, after Stiles has spent the last three months practically bending over backwards to be understanding about Derek’s issues. Turning down invitations with his friends to stay quietly in his dorm with Derek and driving back to Beacon Hills often enough that Stiles’ father isn’t even surprised to see them in his living room anymore. 

Derek knows his mother will be home when he gets back, and she will take one look at him and know that something is wrong. He doesn’t want to deal with it. He drives over to Boyd’s apartment instead, glad that Erica won’t be back until tomorrow. Boyd is the best, because he lets Derek watch NCIS with him, and doesn’t ask a million prying questions. Not even when Derek lets his phone ring to voice mail.

It only takes him half an hour to break, before he thanks Boyd, gets a nod in return, and goes out to his car to listen to his messages.

“Heeeey, guess what?” Stiles voice says, and Derek has to fight not to smile at his tone. “My dad’s not gonna be home tonight. So you should come over. If you want to. Bacon and omelettes for breakfast!” Stiles takes barely a pause for breath before, his invitation issued, he leaves a long diatribe on the evils of his Calculus professor and the homework he was assigned, switching subjects without warning to his Guild on that computer game he loves, and back over to a new restaurant near campus before his voice is abruptly cut off. 

After Derek listens to the ridiculously long voicemail he drives over to Stiles’ house to wait. The sheriff had told him where the key was yesterday -- a mortifying conversation for the both of them -- but Derek was pretty sure waiting inside would give Stiles the wrong impression about why he was here.

He’s not sure how much time passes before he hears Stiles’ Jeep, then finally sees it several minutes later. Stiles is singing along to the radio loudly.

He can see the moment Stiles realizes that he’s there. His heart skips, then his gaze sharpens and he smiles happily.

“Hey, you’re early,” Stiles says, and Derek can see Stiles’ grin faltering when he gets close enough to see the grim expression Derek is sure is on his face.

Derek should just take the envelope and leave, but Stiles is close enough that he can see the slight flush on his face even in semi-dark.

“Don’t come by the house this weekend,” he says instead, just to appease his own conscience, before standing up and dragging Stiles into an embrace, duffel and all.

“Um, okay,” Stiles says, sounding confused, but he doesn’t argue when Derek takes his keys and lets them both in the house. “Why?” he tries to ask, as Derek takes the bag from Stiles and unzips the side pocket, and digs out a condom. Stiles makes a noise of approval, then Derek is shoving it into his pocket and pushing Stiles back against the door and covering Stiles’ mouth with his. Stiles’ hands come up to grip the back of Derek’s shirt, mouth falling open while Derek relearns the taste of his skin. He sucks Stiles bottom lip into his mouth to hear him gasp, before he pulls away and directs Stiles toward the stairs. 

“Dude, come on--” 

“Bedroom,” Derek says, and Stiles’ mouth snaps shut as he grabs Derek’s hand and follows him up the first set of stairs without another word. When Derek glances back and sees Stiles’ eager expression he has to stop on the landing and press Stiles against the wall. Stiles’ long fingers tangle briefly in Derek’s hair before they slide down over his back and tug at the bottom of his shirt. Derek complies easily, leaning back long enough for Stiles to pull his shirt off before he goes back, burying his face in the crook of Stiles neck and mouthing at his skin. He smells like alcohol and sweat and textbooks, something that Derek had never thought he would find attractive, especially after he graduated college himself. 

Laughter breaks him out of his Stiles induced trance, and he bites down lightly, pulling back with a grin with Stiles’ snickers tip over into a moan. 

“Come on, you promised me a bedroom,” Stiles says, grinding up against Derek until Derek has to grab him by the hips and swing them around, prodding Stiles up the stairs again. As much as he doesn’t want to move, he wants to clean the carpet before Stiles’ dad comes home even less.

They manage to make it into Stiles’ room before Derek gives up on control. He slams the door behind them and pushes Stiles up against it, dropping to his knees and shoving at Stiles’ jeans, leaning in to inhale him deeply while Stiles makes noises of approval. Followed by words of approval. 

“Yes, Derek, just -- fuck,” Stiles breaks off to fumble at his buttons, like Derek isn’t already trying to get his jeans off. Between the two of them they manage to drag Stiles’ jeans down to his knees and get the condom open and rolled over Stiles’ cock before Derek loses patience again -- two weeks without this, he won’t feel guilty. Not for this, at least. And presses his hands flat against Stiles’ hips to keep him still. Stiles’ cock jerks when Derek licks his thigh, then again when he brushes his lips over the tip teasingly. 

“Bastard,” Stiles grits out, and when Derek smirks up at him, adds, “Come on, either suck me or let me fuck you, _please_.” Derek chokes a little at that, thinks it over for a second before he shakes his head and dives in, mouth sliding over Stiles with familiarity. Above him, Stiles is letting out groans and ‘pleases’ and ‘mores’, and his hands flail for a moment before finding purchase on Derek’s head. 

Derek flicks his gaze upward to see Stiles’ flushed face, letting go of Stiles with one hand to palm himself through his jeans. He loves this, and Stiles loves this, so it’s really a win for both of them when he pulls Stiles hands out of his hair and presses his wrists against the door. Stiles’ breath hitches. 

“Can I-” he starts, hips moving jerkily in tiny restrained motions, and Derek pulls off long enough to nod and take in a deep lungful of air before sliding his mouth over Stiles’ cock again, down, down, until his nose is buried against Stiles’ groin. 

Stiles sounds like he’s almost crying, his breath coming fast and explosive before Derek pulls back an inch or two. Just enough to give Stiles room to move. Stiles takes it. Slow at first, like he always is when he does this, like he’s worried about hurting Derek. Derek likes it best, though, when Stiles finally loses it and he moans around Stiles encouragingly, feeling a flush of warmth when Stiles’ eyes squeeze shut and his thrusts get sloppier, more wild. His hands strain against Derek’s grip, and Derek’s cock _hurts_ it’s so hard in his jeans, so he lets one arm go to undo his button clumsily. Stiles’ hand immediately reaches out to Derek, hand gripping his hair. Not moving or pulling, just holding it like an anchor, letting out fresh moans every time Derek swallows around him. 

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles groans, then his eyes flicker open. “Holy shit, how are you so -- I’m going to --” Stiles is starting to lose his words, and even if he hadn’t said anything Derek can feel how close he is. He squeezes Stiles’ wrist encouragingly and Stiles lets out a sobbing noise and bucks up a few more times before he comes down Derek’s throat. Derek doesn’t move except to wrap his thumb and index finger around the base of Stiles’ dick to keep the condom in place, just keeps swallowing around him until Stiles goes limp everywhere. Then he twitches back and lets out a noise that Derek knows means ‘too much’. 

“Fuck,” Stiles sighs again, long and drawn out and weirdly affectionate. Derek lets go of his wrist and scoots back on the carpet as he slides down the door and leans forward, head falling forward and sort of mashing his lips against Derek’s cheek until Derek can’t wait any longer. He yanks his own jeans down enough to pull his cock out and give it a few tugs, already close, before Stiles is letting out an indignant noise. 

“Let me just --” Stiles starts, pushing Derek’s hands out of the way and sliding his thumb over the tip, smoothing precome over his hand before he starts jerking Derek without any teasing. Just this side of too dry. Derek groans and lets his head fall forward against Stiles shoulder, hips jerking up into Stiles hand as he sucks a mark onto the other side of his neck. 

“Obsessed,” Stiles mutters, breath warm across the side of Derek’s face. Derek chokes on a breath and stutters out something in response before his body is seizing up, hips pumping into Stiles’ hot fist. 

Stiles strokes him through it, letting out a little squeak when Derek’s teeth press too hard. Derek backs off immediately, still feeling limp with pleasure. He doesn’t want to move from their pocket of warmth on the floor with the overpowering smell of arousal and come and StilesandDerek. As soon as he gets up, he’s going to have to remember that he’s lying to Stiles. That Stiles isn’t stupid, and he knows that Derek isn’t being honest with him. About more things than a stupid envelope.

Stiles indulges him for as long as he can, but Derek can feel his pulse speeding up again, limbs twitching from the awkward position they’ve be too long inactive in. He leans in for one more kiss before he gets to his feet, dragging Stiles up as well. 

“Shower?” he asks, and Stiles melts against him. 

“Yeah. Better come with me, I might pass out,” Stiles says. Derek can feel him grin against his neck and he decides -- he can stay a little longer. The truce pact isn’t going anywhere. He manhandles them both into the shower, scrubbing them down quickly despite Stiles protests that he’s been washing himself for years, thanks. 

“I might have to get more eggs for breakfast,” Stiles says once they get back to his room. He’s still pink from the hot water, and a little damp, but he worms his way under the covers and grins up at Derek. 

“I...” Derek feels his jaw clench when Stiles’ grin fades. 

“My dad really doesn’t mind if you stay over,” Stiles tries, and Derek has to shake his head. 

“Sorry, I have. I can’t stay tonight. I have to get up early tomorrow. It’s my turn to drop the kids off at school.” That makes the tension on Stiles’ face clear. 

“They’re not on break?” 

“Next week,” Derek manages to say. He has to bite back an apology, because he knows that will just piss Stiles off. As well as make him realize that Derek’s reason is just an excuse. Instead he leans over to kiss him -- half expecting Stiles to push him away. Stiles doesn’t.

“The envelope’s in my laptop bag,” Stiles tells him when Derek straightens back up. “Want to hang out tomorrow?” 

“I’ll call you. Um. Just don’t come over to the house,” Derek says, then escapes before he can see Stiles’ expression.


	2. Saturday, March 15, 2014

“We’re gonna be late!” Amy yells from the hallway. Derek groans and rolls over to find himself face to face with Meghan. He flinches back. 

“Time to get up!” she says and Derek sighs and lets Meghan drag him out of bed. How that girl manages to sneak up on him every time he will never understand. 

Derek manages to get the kids to Gram’s on time, even with their stupid argument over the windows being down or up -- Jeremy and Amy outvoted Meghan and they all sulked until they got to the house. When Amy starts bragging about how she and Jeremy will be going to ‘real’ school in the fall, Derek is ridiculously glad that they’ve arrived and he can kick them out of the car, eager to get back to the kid free house. He’s not going to wallow no matter what Aunt Gina says. Work is important, and he likes to be ahead of his schedule in case there’s an emergency. 

He stops at the grocery store on the way home, and goes to the dairy section to pick up milk. When Derek gets to the register, though, he feels his nose start twitching. He smells a werewolf. Not one he recognizes. He swivels, trying to see if he can pinpoint the direction, but it’s not fresh enough and the garlic in the cart behind him just makes him sneeze. 

“Sorry,” Derek says when the girl at the register wrinkles her nose in disgust. He swipes his card and takes off as soon as she hands him the receipt. 

The scent is stronger outside, but the wind is blowing steadily and it will probably be gone within the hour, so he gets in his car and calls Laura. 

“You’ve left Stiles’ side already?” Laura asks with a smirk in her voice. 

“I smelled a werewolf. Not pack, or one I recognize,” Derek says flatly as he starts his car, and his grin is a little satisfied when he can hear Laura scrambling across the line. 

“Why didn’t you call Gram or Uncle Richard?” she finally says. Derek winces. He probably should have, actually, but he knows that Laura is already out on patrol. Plus she’s a lot better at getting Gram to listen than Derek is. 

“I trying to track it,” he says instead, grimacing as a wave of motor oil obscures his sense of smell for a moment. “But the wind’s pretty bad, so if you could--”

“Yeah, I’ll call around and have whoever’s free go over to the store and help,” Laura says immediately. “And maybe I’ll think about not telling Gram you didn’t call her first,” she adds smugly, and Derek groans. 

“How are you the oldest, and yet more immature than everyone --” he starts, but Laura just laughs at him and hangs up.

Derek tries very hard not to grind his teeth and drives in the direction the scent is strongest.

 

++ 

 

Seeing Derek’s car meandering aimlessly around town that morning had put Stiles in a sour mood before he even made it to Allison’s to pick her up and go to the mall. Allison was trying her best to be positive, which Stiles was sure he’d appreciate at some point, but he honestly wished that Scott was here. He would be happy to go along with Stiles’ theories. Probably, he’d even come up with some of his own that he’d been holding back for weeks until Stiles got annoyed enough with Derek that they would be welcome. They got along a little better now, but Scott still regarded Derek suspiciously. Which isn’t entirely fair. Stiles has forgiven Allison for taking up so much of Scott’s time and attention. 

But he isn’t thinking about that right now. 

“Derek’s not a drug dealer,” Allison says, rolling her eyes. “I’m pretty sure your dad would have figured that one out.” 

“Yeah, okay. But the envelope thing was still weird,” Stiles concedes. He’s maybe still a little annoyed about Derek running out after sexing Stiles up the night before. With only a stop to grab the stupid envelope and remind Stiles not to come over to his house with his stupid adorable face in a ridiculously pleading expression. Allison had sworn, when he called her yesterday, that shopping would be great therapy, but so far Stiles only has a an armful of bags that aren’t his and an awesome flash drive shaped like a 1-Up Mushroom. Admittedly, the flash drive discovery made him feel a little better. But he’d basically decided that Allison is just really devious and wanted someone to use as a pack horse. Until she decided to ask about Derek.

“I’m sure there’s a good explanation.” 

“If only he would actually tell it to me,” Stiles says, in the fakest cheerful voice he can muster, and lets Allison direct him out of the sporting goods store. He checks his phone again, but there aren’t any messages. Annoying. 

“Maybe he thinks you don’t like his family,” Allison suggests, which just makes Stiles think of the inverse -- maybe Derek’s family doesn’t like _him_ and Derek is too nice to say anything. 

He’s still working on the logistics of winning the affections of everyone in Derek’s family -- he has Laura already, she loves his cookies, and Derek, obviously, but he isn’t terribly familiar with Derek’s parents. He’s pretty sure he could sway Mark with Mrs. McCall’s phone number. He saw the look that Mark gave her when she came to pick Scott’s drunken self up during Lydia’s New Year’s Eve party. Before he can come up with a way to give him the number without engaging the wrath of Scott’s mom (which is swift and _terrifying_ ), Allison elbows him lightly. 

“So, I don’t want to sound paranoid, but I think that guy’s following us,” Allison says, flicking her eyes towards the mirrored wall in front of the jewelry store they’re walking past.

Stiles follows her gaze and frowns. “I don’t recognize him.” 

“Let’s go in. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.” Stiles follows Allison in and they walk to the Macy’s, toward the shoes in the back. The mall is busy even for a Saturday, but this part of the store is quiet. “But I swear he’s been following us since we left the bookstore.” 

They loiter in the back for about ten minutes, poking at shoes and Stiles ends up finding a pair of Vans on sale. 

“What, you promised me retail therapy,” he protests when Allison gives him a look. “We’ll be able to see if he’s still out front from the cash register.” 

He is. Stiles shoots Allison a worried look and leans over the counter. “Hi, Meredith,” he says, glancing at her nametag, “is there like -- a protocol for creepy guys following you around the mall?” he asks, and she pauses in the middle of ringing him up. 

“I’ll call security,” she offers, looking sympathetic. 

“I think he has a gun,” Allison says in a low voice, and the girl’s eyes widen in alarm. “Look at his jacket.” 

Stiles looks again and groans when the guy shifts and he can see the bulge under his arm. That plus the weird arm cross that he always sees on people wearing shoulders holsters is enough of a confirmation for him. 

“Should I call the police?” Meredith whispers, and Stiles shakes his head and pulls out his phone, hitting the speed dial for his dad. 

“No, I’ve got it.” He hands over his card and Meredith takes it like she’s not sure what to do with it. “Act normal, he’s still looking over here. Hey, dad,” he says, grinning and tilting his head away so the guy can’t see his face. “Someone’s following Allison and me, and we think he has a gun. About 5’7”, light hair, green jacket, black jeans. He’s standing by the candy machines outside Macy’s.”

“Where are you?” his dad asks, and Stiles can hear him covering the phone and yelling something. 

“We’re in the shoe section.” He holds up a finger and steps away from the counter, smiling apologetically, and he can see Allison step over and smile at Meredith. She’s probably saying something reassuring because she looks completely calm. He can hear footsteps and then someone talking in the background before his dad speaks again.

“Stay there, we’ll be over in five. Or less, actually. Laura’s driving.” 

Stiles lets out a startled laugh, and his dad asks, “Is Allison still with you?” 

“Yeah, but she’s cool,” Stiles says. “Meredith, uh, the girl working here is looking a little freaked, but we’ve got it. Just a sec.” 

He walks back over to the counter and leans his back against it while Allison asks, “Your dad?”

“He’ll be here in like a minute,” Stiles says quietly. “So let’s just say that you’re going to look at shoes and I’ll wait here.” Allison looks at him narrowly and Stiles raises his eyebrows. 

“Fine,” she concedes and heads back the clearance shoes. “Meredith, can you help me find a size eight and a half?”

Meredith looks at Stiles wide eyed and he waves her after Allison with the most reassuring smile he can fake. She hurries past him and Stiles leans against the counter. He almost wants to nod at the guy, but his dad will definitely kill him if he does. 

“We’re outside,” his dad says.

“Allison and Meredith are in the back. I can duck behind the counter if he decides to get gun happy,” Stiles says and can practically hear his dad praying for patience. 

But he still sighs and says, “Good job, kiddo. I’m hanging up, Laura’s going to go in first and see if we can’t get him to come peaceably.” 

 

 

++

 

 

Derek stabs at Laura with his fork when she steals a fry off of his plate, but she yanks her hand back just in time and stuffs it in her mouth triumphantly. He thought he would be eating dinner alone, since all the kids are staying at Aunt Gina’s with a rotating guard of betas while the omegas are in town. Everyone who’s not there is out patrolling. He took his shift during the day when most everyone else was at work. 

“Hey, share,” Laura whines. “Why are you so mean?” She comes back in for another and he whips his arms around his plate protectively. 

“Don’t you have your own house,” he demands, before eating another fry. Laura pouts at him, but she can only keep it up for a second before a sly grin comes over her face. 

“Give me half your fries and I’ll tell you what happened at work today.” She leans in conspiratorially and Derek rolls his eyes.

“I don’t care,” Derek says. He eats another fry and she makes a face at him. 

“It’s about Stiles,” she says, in an annoying sing song. Derek pauses. Then sighs and gestures for her to get a plate. Once the fries are safely in her possession, she continues, “He was at the mall with Allison Argent.” 

“So? They’re friends. That wasn’t even worth the fries,” Derek complains and Laura quickly pulls her plate out of reach. 

“Let me finish, brat. There was a guy following them. Sheriff Stilinski and I had to go to the mall and take him into custody since he had a gun. Turns out he’s a hunter.” She keeps talking but Derek doesn’t hear it. 

“A hunter?” he finally manages to say. It feels like his throat is strangling the words. There’s no reason a hunter would be following Stiles if he wasn’t involved with Derek. Laura stops and grabs Derek’s arm. When she does, he realizes he’s half out of his chair. 

“Derek? He’s fine. The hunter was just passing through town. He’s not going to attack a human. Probably after those omegas you sniffed out yesterday. Actually, Boyd has a theory that they’re behind the break-ins recently, so now Ryan or I have to go back to all the scenes and see if we can pick up a week old scent trail,” she complains, then shoves a few fries in her mouth and makes a surprised noise after she swallows. “And these fries are delicious.”

“If it wasn’t for me-”

“Derek.” Laura grabs his chin to make him look at her. She actually looks serious for once. “Nothing happened, and if it did? It wouldn’t be your fault. It would be the hunter’s fault.” 

Derek takes a deep breath and tries to believe her. Between werewolves seeking out Stiles at school and this, though, he’s not sure he can. She lets go of his face and sits back. 

“Argent hasn’t contacted us about a hunter coming into town, so it’s not one of his,” Derek says. Which means that there’s no guarantee this guy follows their code. Laura nods like she knows what he’s thinking. 

“I already informed Gram, everyone who’s looking for the omega knows to keep an eye out for the hunter, too.”

“What happened with him?” 

“We couldn’t actually charge him with more than trespassing, but--” she cuts off when Derek pushes away from the table. He slides his plate over to her. “Um, thanks?”

“I’m full,” Derek tells her, already walking toward the basement door, tucked out of the way in the back corner of the kitchen. 

“Oh my god,” Laura says, but she hasn’t gotten up from the chair. It sounds like she’s eating Derek’s chicken and he rolls his eyes as he flips on the light switch and goes down the steps, bypasses his brother’s weight sets and all of the camping supplies for the cabinets spanning across the far wall. “What are you doing?” Laura yells a moment later. 

“None of your business,” he says, and hears Laura huff indignantly. The stuff in the cabinets is for the humans of the pack, mostly, and Derek bypasses the weaponry (and the terrible visions of Stiles shooting himself in the foot with a crossbow) and goes for the spray canisters. They’ve got enough flammable cans down here that he mostly tries not to think about, but he has one in mind. It’s labeled as mace, and he has to bring the can closer to his face than he’d like to make sure it’s the one laced with wolfsbane. 

He jogs back up the steps and Laura rolls her eyes when she sees him. 

“Really?” she asks, mouth full, as Derek walks through the kitchen to grab his jacket from the coat rack near the front door. “Wow. Like you’re not being totally predictable right now. I’m not stupid, you know. Cave wolf!” she yells after him, and Derek slams the door and gets in his car to drive to Stiles’. 

 

 

++

 

 

It’s late afternoon by the time Stiles gets back and nearly nine by the time his dad gets home to share the lasagna Stiles made. Mainly to keep his mind off of ‘guy with gun’ related thoughts. The conversation is pretty lackluster, so Stiles spends a couple minutes devoted to trying to figure out why he finds Allison’s dad creepier than the creep who followed them with a gun. He’s pretty sure it’s his eyes. They just... stare. Creepily. Even when Stiles was just innocently dropping Allison off after they both give their statement to Laura.

His dad waves him off when Stiles tries to help clean up, saying he’s going to sleep, and they’ll take care of it in the morning, so Stiles just goes up to his room and surfs Wikipedia until his brain calms down enough to sleep. It’s not going well. But he does learn a lot about vesper bats.

“Laura said--” 

“Holy shit!” Stiles exclaims. He tries to spin around and ends up falling out of his desk chair instead. Derek goes from looming in the doorway to pulling Stiles to his feet in two strides. “What the fuck,” Stiles pants, holding a hand over his chest like it will slow down his racing heart. 

“Laura said you were followed at the mall,” Derek says again, and Stiles collapses back on his chair. 

“Yeah, we’re fine. Allison’s fine, I’m fine. Nobody got shot. He didn’t even pull the gun, and he had a permit, so dad just charged him with trespassing,” Stiles finishes and glances up at Derek in time to see his face contort. It’s gone after a second and Stiles blinks.

“I heard that, too,” Derek says, clenching his fists. His jaw works silently and he sways forward a little. Stiles sighs. One day Derek will actually ask for something, but for now... 

“I would be better if people weren’t creeping in my room after a dude with a gun just followed me around a mall,” Stiles says, shutting his laptop. He takes Derek’s wrist and pulls him over to the bed and flops back on to it, kicking off his shoes and then beckons Derek closer. “Come here?” 

Derek goes quickly, apparently just waiting for an invitation before climbing on top of the bed and Stiles. 

“Were you worried about me?”

“Yes.” Derek says plainly, and Stiles feels himself flush. While he’s still trying to formulate a response, Derek adds, “You should stay in tomorrow.” 

“Uh, what?” Stiles is going to get verbal whiplash at this rate. “Why?”

There’s a long pause before Derek finally says, “It’s not... safe.” 

“That’s really not a reason,” Stiles returns. “Also, how did you even get inside? My dad’s asleep.” 

“He showed me where the spare key is.” 

Okay, that’s weird. He’s pretty sure his dad has never told anyone where the key is kept. Though he does feel a little better with Derek wrapping his ridiculous biceps around him. Derek pushes his face against Stiles neck without so much as a kiss, but luckily Stiles is used to Derek and his weird fascination with doing things that end up covering Stiles in stubble burn. 

“I’m going to start making you shave before you’re allowed within two feet of my person,” Stiles says anyways and Derek mumbles something against his collarbone. “Dude, I don’t have super hearing.” 

“You like it,” Derek says again, lifting his head up enough that Stiles can hear him. And yes, fine, but he doesn’t really like the whole constant neck rash thing. That much. 

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to see you this weekend,” Stiles says instead and Derek’s head jerks up, eyes flashing blue in the light from the street lamp outside Stiles’ window. 

“What? No, just don’t go over to the house.” He doesn’t offer up any explanation, just ducks back down and nudges Stiles’ shirt aside to suck a biting kiss into his shoulder.

Well. Don’t go over to the house, don’t go out, what’s next -- is Derek going to tell him to look both ways before he crosses the street, and not to talk to strangers? Stiles shifts and accidentally on purpose elbows Derek. He doesn’t even have the courtesy to notice and Stiles shifts gears back to their conversation. 

“What secret family thing are you doing this time?” Stiles asks, and grunts when Derek’s teeth clamp down a little too hard. A second later Derek is soothing the area with his tongue and Stiles reaches up to card a hand through Derek’s hair, petting him lightly. Finally Derek backs off enough for Stiles to get a glimpse of his face before hands are unbuttoning his jeans. He thinks Derek is probably just trying to get out of answering the questions, which is cute, if unlikely to actually work. But Stiles can prioritize. Sex, then answers. 

But. 

“Dude. Shut the door first,” Stiles says, batting Derek’s groping hands away.

Derek sighs like Stiles is being difficult instead of trying to be a good son and boyfriend and prevent parental trauma and slash or stress between his dad and Derek’s weirdly cordial relationship. And also, Derek has no room to complain. He won’t even let them get past first base at his house. Before Stiles can say any of this, though, Derek’s up and locking the door and back to the bed in seconds, yanking Stiles’ jeans off and tossing them across the room before he straddles Stiles’ legs and gropes Stiles’ half hard cock through his boxers. He doesn’t seem in too much of a hurry, content to fondle him idly while pressing more hickies into Stiles shoulders until Stiles gets impatient and goes for the buttons on Derek’s jeans. 

Derek raises up so Stiles can shove his pants down Derek’s hips. And then Derek is rolling off of him to kick them the rest of the way off before he’s back on Stiles, mouthing at his jaw and sliding a hand into his boxers to jack him slowly. 

“Excellent distraction technique,” Stiles says a tad breathlessly, reaching up and tugging at Derek’s shirt impatiently. Teeth latch onto Stiles’ ear, probably in some sort of reprimanding capacity, but Derek’s shirt comes off a second later so it’s not terribly effective. 

Before Stiles can drag Derek back in for another kiss, he’s ducking down, pushing Stiles’ shirt up to mouth at his stomach. His teeth catch on Stiles’ boxers, and Stiles has to bite his fist to keep from moaning at the sight of Derek pulling his underwear down carefully. 

“I want to hear you,” Derek mutters against Stiles’ hip. Stiles stifles a laugh. Like hearing Stiles’ yelling Derek’s name isn’t going to horribly scar his father for life. Derek is looking up at him expectantly as he thumbs over the damp head of Stiles’ cock. His breath hitches, but he still manages to roll his eyes at Derek.

“Sure, I’ll just tell my dad to take a walk around the block,” he retorts quietly, and then has to clap his hands over his mouth when Derek sucks another vindictive bitemark into his hip. Derek’s big hands slide up his legs and squeeze his thighs, pressing him into the bed when Stiles loses control for a second and bucks his hips upwards. 

“Sorry,” he manages to say, then he has to cover his mouth again, whimpering into his palm while Derek’s hand slicks the precome beading at the tip of his cock down over the shaft, mouth working its way parallel to the crease of Stiles’ thigh. Stiles has to close his eyes to keep from coming right then. Which would be less embarrassing if Stiles hadn’t gotten off with Derek less than twenty four hours ago. Not that Derek ever seems to mind. Stiles' brain has internalized some kind of Pavlovian reaction to Derek’s teeth on him, apparently, he thinks, biting back another groan.

A heavy weight settles over his legs, and when he looks down again Derek is no longer balancing over him but lying basically directly over his legs while his own hang off the end of Stiles' bed. His free hand slides down to massage absently at Stiles’ balls and Stiles groans into his hand. He can feel Derek’s thighs flexing subtly around his calf, his cock hard against Stiles. 

Something about Derek being turned on enough to hump against Stiles’ leg has him rocketing towards orgasm and he flails one hand down to grip at Derek’s shoulder in warning. 

Derek pulls his mouth off of Stiles’ abused flesh but doesn’t back off, expression laser focused as he wraps a hand around Stiles and jerks him off. Three more strokes and Stiles’ vision is whiting out and his hips are jolting up. When he can open his eyes again, Derek is staring at his come covered hand with a weirdly fascinated gaze, still tugging Stiles slowly until he regains the coordination to push Derek off. He can still feel Derek hard against his leg once he has a second to catch his breath. But Derek doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. He just looks satisfied, fingers still gliding through the mess on Stiles’ cock until Stiles finally lets out a pained grunt and pushes his hand away. Derek loves playing with his dick more than anyone Stiles has ever slept with, though usually not to the point of painful oversensitivity. 

“Come here,” Stiles says after a moment. He struggles to sit up, pulling at Derek’s shoulders to get him in range to reciprocate. That’s when Derek lets out a low groan and pushes himself up to kneel over Stiles, yanking his briefs down his hips and pulling his cock out, jerking it until he comes all over Stiles’ stomach and chest. 

Derek lowers himself back over Stiles, kissing him lazily and smearing come all over Derek’s chest and Stiles’ stomach and t-shirt. 

“Yuck,” Stiles finally says, feeling dazed as he fumbles for the tissues on his headboard, grabbing a few and swiping ineffectually at his stomach. “You are so gross,” he tells Derek fondly, and groans when Derek pulls Stiles’ shirt over his head and uses it to wipe up the mess. “Jerk. I liked that shirt.” 

Derek just shrugs as he pulls first his, then Stiles’ miraculously unscathed briefs back up and rolls them both under the comforter.

“Are you staying?” Stiles asks a few minutes later, though he’s pretty sure that Derek wouldn’t have let Stiles drape himself over Derek’s chest if he was planning on leaving. 

“Mmhmm,” Derek sighs, shifting so his nose is pressed against Stiles hair. “Okay?”

“Duh,” Stiles returns, and Derek’s muscles go lax. Stiles is a little envious of Derek’s ability to fall asleep so quickly, to be honest. But at least Derek’s weirdness is distracting him from the whole thing at the mall. Since Derek still hasn’t said why Stiles can’t go to his house over the weekend. Or anything about the envelope. Sex is pretty obvious as far as distraction techniques go, but Stiles is confident in his ability to get answers, even from someone as tight lipped as Derek. He can be patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I've read and reread this chapter so many times that I just want it posted already. Sorry for any blatanty effed up bits. Or continuity fails. Reposting this chapter after someone pointed out the what-the-fuckery that was going on at the end there. Sex scenes aren't exactly my forte, but improvement supposedly come with practice, right?


	3. Sunday, March 16, 2014

Of course patience doesn’t do much when the person wanted for questioning is avoiding you. Stiles wakes up when Derek tries to climb out of bed, way too early. Derek kisses him quiet and tells him to go back to sleep. 

When Stiles is still annoyingly awake a few minutes later, he yanks on a clean-ish shirt and bounces downstairs to find Derek and his dad eating breakfast. It only takes him a minute to dismiss that as unimportant. 

“Coffee?” he asks, and his dad pushes a mug towards him. Stiles has already had to replace one carafe since his doctor lowered his Adderall dosage and he started drinking coffee in the morning to make it until his pill at ten. Which was annoying, but better than taking an extra dose to power through studying for finals, or to focus enough to write a ten page paper due the next morning, then running out of his pills and getting worried looks and pamphlets about addiction and drug tolerance from his dad. Which only happened once, in high school, and his dad never let him forget it. So Stiles just thanks his dad and flops into a chair to wait for the caffeine to work it’s magic. 

A minute or so later Derek slides a plate over to him and Stiles gives it a suspicious glare until his dad lets out a snort of laughter. 

Right. Breakfast. It takes a couple bites before Stiles’ stomach decides that, yes, it is in need of nourishment, and then he practically inhales the scrambled eggs in front of him. 

When he looks up again, Derek is still staring at him curiously. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Derek says, which is obviously untrue, but Stiles will let it slide this time. “Here.” He sets a canister of -- Stiles leans forward and squints -- mace on the table. 

Stiles looks at his dad accusingly, but he’s hiding behind his newspaper. Its rustling sounds like muffled laughter. 

“What is that.” 

“It’s mace,” Derek says slowly, with a completely unwarranted patronizing tone. “For protection.” 

Stiles squints at Derek this time. “I have you and Allison for protection. She knows things. I’m pretty sure she beat up Chuck Norris once.” Though that may have been a dream. He’ll have to think about it post coffee.

The newspaper snorts, and Stiles side eyes it. 

“Just take it. Please. Just in case.” Stiles focuses on Derek again, and wow. He really has the whole pleading face down. It’s almost as good as Scott’s. Though Scott’s never given Stiles any orgasms, and Stiles is weak to puppy dog eyes and orgasms. Not at once, though. That would be weird. And he totally needs to call Scott. Maybe he’ll see if he’s up for Borderlands later that afternoon. 

Derek clears his throat and Stiles jumps, before remembering that Derek had actually (sort of) asked him a question. He sighs and nods. Derek stands up and kisses the top of Stiles’ head and then leaves before Stiles can even file a complaint. Head kissing is not permissible, would be the basis, and then he would list out the acceptable substitutes. 

He’s got the mental list done, but decided most of them are inadvisable in front of his dad. When he looks up from his coffee, Derek is still gone, and there’s a canister of mace sitting in front of his empty plate.

“You did this,” Stiles says to the newspaper, and it lowers. His dad gives him a skeptical look before hiding behind it again, and Stiles finishes the rest of his coffee in silence before he stumbles back up the stairs to a nice, straightforward and totally cooperative shower. 

 

 

++

 

 

Derek doesn’t actually want to leave Stiles’ house. He would have liked to stay there, preferably in Stiles’ bed, and maybe take a shower together before lounging around the house some more. But he has work and patrol, and he has to help out with the kids tonight, since most of them are still struggling with controlling themselves on the full moon. So he goes home, promising himself that if he gets this next project finished he’ll call Stiles to go for lunch before he has to go out on patrol again. 

When he gets home Will’s van is out front. He gets in, trying not to listen to the low voices from the living room and sneak past to his room.

“Derek,” his brother calls and Derek sighs. He’ll have to put off work a little longer. 

He goes into the living room where Will and Boyd are sitting. “Yes?”

“That hunter? He’s still in town. Mom caught wind of him in the preserve last night.” Derek closes his eyes and leans back against the wall, flooded with guilt. If he’d been home instead of at Stiles’, he could have helped track him down. “He must have covered his scent with wolfsbane,” Will says knowingly. He has his therapist face on, which is eerily similar to their mother’s. Derek sighs and uncrosses his arms and tries to think not guilty thoughts. If he doesn’t at least try, they will know. And he’ll get another talk about why he shouldn’t feel guilty about everything that goes wrong. 

But, seriously. He should have known Laura was underreacting. She always is. 

“Alright. So, are we patrolling?” 

“Yeah,” Boyd says, and slides a paper across the table. “Will you email this around to everyone?” 

Apparently having a degree in Computer Science makes him that guy. Derek nods without protest, since he’s used to it. His Gram won’t even touch a computer, and his mother isn’t much better, but everyone else has advanced to the twenty first century, and so: mass emails. 

“There’s a roster for town, woods, and kids,” Will adds. Obviously. As Derek can read. Will must sense Derek’s annoyance, and he shrugs apologetically. “Gram is still having the older kids stay in school, but everyone else is at Aunt Gina’s until we catch the hunter and the omega.” He waiting until Derek nods before standing. Boyd does as well, though Boyd doesn’t round the table and pull Derek into a one armed hug before he goes. Derek heads to the stairs but stops when Will turns at the front door and calls, “See you later, baby bro.” 

“Bastard,” Derek mutters half heartedly. “I’m still taller than you,” he yells, just so he can make sure Will’s human ears can hear him. He’s sure that Will is going to use his kids to get revenge on Derek, but hearing Boyd break into laughter at his brother’s indignant noise is worth it.

 

 

“Okay, so I was wrong.” 

Derek looks up at Laura blankly as he pulls off his headphones, blinking and looking at his clock reflexively before he realizes that four hours have passed since Will dropped of the roster. There’ve been pack members in and out of the house and the woods all day and he can’t concentrate with all the noise. He can still hear, a little, with music playing in his headphones, but it drowns out the noise enough that he managed to get a couple hours of work done. 

“You’re wrong a lot,” Derek finally says, once the disorientation from a sudden onslaught of sound wears off. Laura punches him hard in the arm and Derek winces and leans away from her. “What were you wrong about?”

“The hunter,” she says. 

“I know,” Derek tries, but Laura continues on without even a pause. 

“Erica found a campsite that she thinks the omegas -- yes, two --” she says, like she’s trying to stop Derek before he can ask about the plural, “and she found traces of the hunter there as well.” Laura looks almost apologetic. As close to sorry as her face can be. Derek gestures at her to continue.

“So, Carol drew up a search grid over Beacon Hills, and there’s another new patrol roster. Mom posted it on the fridge.” Laura rolls her eyes. “You’re to send it around again. And Gram set up a meeting with the Argents. She wants us on the perimeter for backup.” 

“Ugh,” Derek groans and Laura claps him on the back. 

“You know she just wants us there because we have the best ears and nose between us.” Derek nods reluctantly at the compliment. It’s not untrue, but he’s pretty sure that half his cousins would take exception. And they don’t have history with these particular Argents. But Laura grins down at him. “At least you don’t have to play chauffeur this time!” 

“This is -- fine. When?” he sighs, already mentally signing away all his free time until the omegas and this freaking hunter are ushered out of town.

She holds out her phone, where she has a photo of the schedule and Derek groans. “I was really hoping to get this done early,” he complains, but gets up anyways. He has roughly ten minutes to get ready. Which is not even close to the amount of time he needs to get ready to handle listening to Chris Argent. Sometimes even hearing the guy’s voice makes him want to hit things. At least he hadn’t made any plans with Stiles that he’d have to break.

“I’ll have Isaac drive past Stiles’ house for you. Maybe creep around in the bushes a little,” Laura says, teasingly, and Derek rolls his eyes and pushes her out of the room. 

 

Logically, Derek knows that Chris Argent isn’t all bad. He keeps the pack informed on hunters traveling through their territory, and they’ve worked together in the past when an omega or something else that may call unwanted attention to them passes through. Otherwise, he stays out of their business. But it took a long time for Derek to be able to separate Chris Argent from his sister, and even though he has -- Chris is still a hunter. He’d be wary of him even if Kate had never... happened. 

It really doesn’t help that he’s a little creepy. Derek thinks it’s mainly his smile. His Gram gives him a look from the passenger seat like she knows what Derek’s thinking. Another scary thing. 

Their cousin Adrian is driving, and he stops his truck half a mile from the meeting place for Laura and Derek to get out. They easily keep pace from along the tree cover, keeping an eye out for hunters as Adrian pulls into the parking lot for the jogging trails through the preserve, several spaces away from a black SUV. As soon as the truck stops, Chris and two other hunters that Derek doesn’t recognize get out of the SUV. He glances at Laura, but she shrugs.

They watch as their cousin Aaron gets out and opens the door for Gram. He’s probably the one that protest the most about Laura having a better hearing than him, Derek thinks, while Adrian, Aaron’s twin, walks around the car to stand on Gram’s other side. 

“Argent,” Gram inclines her head briefly at him, ignoring the other two hunters. They aren’t anyone that Derek is familiar with, and he thinks that Argent probably called them into town when this meet was scheduled. 

“Alpha Hale,” Chris says stiffly. 

“There’s an unsanctioned hunter in town,” she begins without any other formalities. “He was detained by the police briefly before he was let go, under the impression that he would be leaving town. That hasn’t happened. I’m sure you’ve gotten word that there are two omegas in town as well.”

Chris nods. “Yes. I assume the hunter was following them?”

“As far as we can tell,” she says calmly. “We’ve been patrolling the town and preserve for the omegas.”

“We have as well,” Chris says in his annoyingly patronizing voice, and Derek has to grit his teeth and wonder how the hell his gram can talk to him without tearing out his throat. 

“Aren’t you glad that that epic romance you’d planned with that douche didn’t work out?” Derek murmurs, and Laura throws him a poisonous glare. 

“I was twelve, shut the fuck up,” she retorts, but quietly and Derek snickers into his hand. 

Gram and the hunters are discussing hunting boundaries when Derek smells it. 

“Laura,” he says warningly, and she flicks a glare at him. 

“What?” she whispers, keeping one eye on the hunters. 

“I think that’s him,” is all he has to say before Laura is waving him on to chase down the scent. 

Derek inhales deeply, trying to catch a better idea of the hunter before he takes off, jogging through the woods and trying not to lose the trail. It’s faint, probably a couple hours old. He doesn’t have any luck though, and the scent abruptly disappears, which makes him think that the hunter was either trying to bait them, or had ridiculous amounts of dumb luck. When he goes back to the lot he hears the tail end of the meeting. Argent is agreeing to hand over the omegas if he catches them, and Gram is saying the same about the hunter. By the time he reaches Laura, the hunters are getting back in their truck. 

“Lost him,” Derek says, when Laura looks at him expectantly. “It just... vanished.” 

“Fuck,” she says sympathetically. “Okay, let’s go report to Gram, I have to go to work.” 

 

 

++

 

 

Stiles spends the rest of Sunday annoyed at Derek for banning him from his house, and not even coming over to entertain him. And then his ire changes focus to his Bio professor for giving him homework due right after Spring Break. By the time he finishes it and the laundry Stiles has been putting off and playing Borderlands 2 with Scott for a couple hours, his dad is home for dinner and Stiles takes a couple of sneaky photos of the paperwork on the guy from the mall. Whose name is apparently Nathan Turner. He sends the mugshot to Allison, so maybe her dad will focus his attention on something besides freaking out. 

“Stiles,” his dad says when he comes out of the kitchen. Stiles shoves his phone back in his pocket and looks at his dad innocently. But not too innocently. That’s always a dead giveaway. Luckily his dad is distracted enough by the call that he doesn’t notice is Stiles is acting shifty.

“What?” he asks.

“Diana Hale reported someone on their property last night,” his dad tells him.

“Well, it wasn’t me,” Stiles says reflexively and his dad gives him a quelling look. 

“Obviously. I just wanted you to know in case Derek comes by.” 

“He told me he’s busy tonight,” Stiles says. “Did you ever figure out who was behind all the break-ins last week?” 

“We’re still looking into it,” his dad says, and when Stiles reaches hopefully for the folder his dad leans forward to flatten his palm over it. “Stay out of it, Stiles,” his dad tells him sternly, and Stiles hastily agrees. Then escapes to his bedroom when his dad starts poking suspiciously at the other folders on the table. 

He had tried texting Derek a couple times earlier, but he just got one word answers, so he starts up a new Words With Friends game with Allison in between doing some internet sleuthing on Mr. Nathan Turner. It turns up frustratingly little. But he does discover that Allison is scary good at hitting triple letter scores, which is both annoying and strangely attractive. He ends up sending Scott a text to that effect, not expecting a soppy yet indignant reply until after five. The vet Scott was working under at school was about a thousand times more strict than Deaton ever was. 

_Lunch tomorrow?_ he sends to Allison, and she must be as bored as Stiles because her answer comes in moments. 

_Yes please. Parents are driving me crazy!! Coffee Grind?_

_K. Noon?_

_See you there,_ Allison replies.

Stiles drops his phone into his pocket and jumps when his dad clears his throat from the doorway. 

“Hungry?”

“Ah, yes,” Stiles says with a grin, angling his body to block his slightly incriminating computer screen. “Duh. What are we having?”

“Burgers.”

“I hope you mean veggie burgers,” Stiles says, abandoning his search and jumping to his feet to follow his dad downstairs. 

“They’re turkey burgers,” his dad replies, long sufferingly. “Sit down and eat already.” 

There’s a bowl of steamed vegetables instead of fries, so Stiles concedes the point. “Any news on the mall stalker?” he asks hopefully. 

“We just got word this morning that he’s wanted for assault in three states,” his dad tells him and Stiles groans. That is the opposite of what he wanted to hear. He really doesn’t want to spend his entire break on house arrest, or being babysat by deputies. His dad looks at him sharply and adds, “So don’t go wandering around town alone. And keep your phone on you. And for god’s sake, don’t try to find this guy on your own.”

“Dad, I know the drill. I want some crazy gun fanatic to kill me even less than you do, okay?” His smile is only a little forced and he waves at the mace, still sitting on the table. “I’m totally set.”


	4. Monday, March 17, 2014

“So my dad flipped when I showed him the pic you sent me yesterday,” Allison says as they sit down with their food. “Told me to stay in tonight. I think he knows the guy.”

“Yeah, apparently he’s wanted for assault,” Stiles says absently. He’s busy watching through the window of the cafe where another member Derek’s family -- Mark, this time -- is passing by. 

“This is getting ridiculous,” Stiles mutters and Allison looks up at him curiously. He nods to the window. “Derek’s brother.” 

“It does seem a little overprotective,” Allison says diplomatically, and laughs when Stiles bites on his straw vengefully. 

“I’m kind of afraid to think what he might do when Spring Break is over and I have to go back to school.”

“Yeah, I had to talk my dad down from having one of his gun happy friends trail us around town today,” Allison says. “He freaked out when I told him about the guy in the mall. And then my mom tried to get me to take a crossbow with me. I was like, Mom, seriously? I don’t exactly have a conceal/carry license for a crossbow.” 

Stiles snorts and digs in his laptop bag to brandish a canister of mace. “Derek gave this to me yesterday at breakfast. I think he’s been taking lessons from Scott on how to make those evil puppy dog eyes, it was ridiculous. I was having serious guilt pangs when I even thought about leaving without it.” 

“Well that’s one more thing my dad has in common with the Hales. Extreme overprotectiveness to go with irrational dislike,” Allison scoffs and pokes at her salad. 

“Wait, what?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. He can’t imagine why Allison’s dad and Derek’s family wouldn’t like each other. He didn’t even think they knew each other. The Hales have lived in Beacon Hills for generations, and Allison’s family only moved in like five years ago. (Unless Mr. Hale beat Mr. Argent in a baking contest or something. Mr. Argent is crazy serious about his desserts.)

“Yeah, they have some weird feud going on. At least he didn’t call my grandpa to town again.” Allison glances around the cafe nervously, like all people in line want her secrets. But Beacon Hills is not a big place -- she might be right. And now Stiles is curious, and not just because at this point he’d welcome any and all distractions from mall stalker.

“For like -- moral... support?” he asks carefully. Allison snorts out a disparaging laugh. 

“Not exactly. Remember that time we were supposed to do that double date at the bowling alley? My dad heard that Derek Hale was going to be there and made up some excuse about my grandpa visiting, so I couldn’t go. And then after dinner, my grandpa told me that I reminded him of my aunt.” She makes a disgusted face and Stiles leans back in his chair, confused. 

“What’s wrong with your aunt?”

Allison glances around warily before she leans forward, voice low. “She’s in prison. For like twenty five years.” 

Stiles really wants to ask what Allison’s aunt did that landed her in prison, but he does have some decorum. Instead, he goes with his second impulse, saying, “Holy shit, why would your grandpa say that?” 

“Right?” Allison crosses her arms and shivers. “I haven’t even seen her for like nine years. Do I seriously look like I’m about to go crazy and try to burn down someone’s house with them in it?”

Arson, then. Possibly attempted murder as well. Definitely not a compliment in Stiles’ books. Unless Allison’s grandpa thinks she’s ripe for a felony, and that that is in any universe a good thing. Which is not something Stiles is going to suggest, because Allison is really nice, and also has access to weaponry. Not that she’d need it to take Stiles out. She could probably do it with the utensils they’re using to eat their lunches. 

He shrugs apologetically at Allison. “Nope, you are totally the picture of mental health. And I’m done,” he adds with a grimace when he sees Peter Hale standing across the street. He waves when Stiles looks over at him. 

“We should go to the adult store and see if they follow us in,” Allison says with a smirk, following his gaze. “Also, I’m pretty sure that’s one of my dad’s hunting buddies over there in front of the library.”

“You’re a genius,” Stiles grins, reaching across the table and Allison shakes her head but bumps his fist anyways.

 

++

 

Derek wakes to someone banging on his bedroom door. He doesn’t bother trying to figure out who, just rolls out of bed and goes to shower. After reporting to Gram and Uncle Richard last night, Derek had to patrol the woods for the rest of his shift. He could barely find a trace of the omegas in the preserve. He didn’t get home until shortly before midnight, and then had to spend another hour adding the search function to the Beacon Hills Gazette site before he was finally able to collapse in bed.

Lack of sleep plus knowing Aunt Gina’s house is going to be chaotic isn’t really helping his mood. Since all the kids under twelve will be there and his shift is from nine until two. Which means dealing with a bunch of grumpy, hungry kids for the hour before lunch, then a bunch of under eights who will refuse to take naps after. He’s hoping he’ll be able to wrangle perimeter for at least part of it, rather than staying inside with the kids. 

Of course, as soon as Derek pulls up in front of Aunt Gina’s house on the north side of town right on the edge of the preserve, Troy comes running out. 

“I’m on perimeter, go inside. Lucy’s having a meltdown,” he yells as he runs past. 

Derek groans and hits his head on the steering wheel a few times for good measure. Then his baby cousin’s crying reaches his ears. He sighs and goes inside. 

When he open the door, Lucy barrels into his legs with all the strength of a three year old werewolf. Derek picks her up and shuts the door behind him and Lucy immediately latches onto his shirt and pushes her snotty face against his shoulder. He rubs her back until her screaming has died down enough that it doesn’t feel like his eardrums are going to burst. 

When he looks around, he sees Trevor is diligently making paper cutouts of -- something. He’s not sure what, but when Trevor holds his out expectantly as Derek passes, he manages to make some vaguely approving noises even while he wonders who gave a seven year old adult scissors. Luckily Trevor’s a werewolf, even if he won’t heal quite as fast as an adult until he hits puberty. Lucy is still letting out short wails against his shoulder, but they’re spaced further out now, interspersed with quiet sobs and rubbing her eyes against his shirt. His dad is sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table with his cell phone and what looks like a stack of papers that he’s grading in front of him. 

“Morning,” he says with a wan smile. If Derek is remembering the shifts correctly, his dad has been here since six AM, so he can understand why he has circles under his eyes. “Nina told Lucy about the H-U-N-T-E-R as you were pulling up. She must have heard you outside.” He explains and gestures over at the corner, where Nina is sitting mutinously and glaring at her little sister. 

“She’s such a baby--” Nina starts, but her mouth shuts which a click when Derek’s father raises his eyebrow at her. Her shoulders hunch up and she pulls her knees up to her chest as Derek walks past her into the kitchen, where the older kids are sitting at the table doing various grade levels of work while Isaac reads a Biology text and supervises. 

“Morning,” Derek says, and Isaac grins at him. 

“Erica told me to let you know she drove by Stiles’ house and he’s still asleep.”

Derek opens his mouth to -- he doesn’t know. Maybe protest, or tell Isaac to tell Erica to mind her own business, but Lucy takes it as an invitation. She’s been lethally curious about teeth since she grew her own and manages to grab hold of Derek’s bottom front teeth and hold with all the strength of a determined toddler until Derek can free a hand to pry hers away. Isaac is laughing at him now, and when she discovers Derek’s mouth is firmly closed, Lucy pouts and reaches up to grab at his ear instead. He really doesn’t want to chance another assault on his person, so he just glares at Isaac and goes back into the living room. He can hear his Uncle Richard and Aaron snoring in the dining room and they are worse than Laura is about being woken up. At least his dad doesn’t mock him, he thinks, ignoring Isaac pointedly as he leaves. 

 

By the time Lucy finally falls asleep after lunch, after screaming every time Derek tried to put her down or hand her off, he has a massive headache. All he wants is to finish his shift without further trauma to his psyche. And his eardrums. Adrian and James come over for their shifts while Derek’s dad and Isaac go, which means Derek ambushes Adrian as soon as he walks in the house and goes out to circle the two mile perimeter they’re keeping around the house. He passes Troy, smiling a little vindictively as he tells him Uncle Richard wants him back at the house. Troy is still fairly new as a werewolf, and hasn’t yet mastered sorting out lies and half truths.

At twelve fifteen, while he’s passing next to the road for the third time, he gets a text from Erica. 

_Stiles is at the cafe with allison._

Derek feels his heart quicken before he reminds himself that the hunter isn’t after Stiles. Stiles is human. And no omega is stupid enough to attack a human in broad daylight, especially in an area as busy as where the cafe is. He texts back, _Mind your own business, Erica,_ and she tries to call him twice before he has to turn his phone on silent. 

When his path crosses his cousin Emma’s twenty minutes later, she hands him a bottle of water. 

“Any luck?” she asks. It’s a fairly pointless question, since they both know that if anyone had found a trace of the omegas or the hunter, they would have heard. 

“No,” he responds anyway, and then groans when his phone vibrates. He looks at reluctantly, since it might actually be important. Instead it’s Mark, giving him another update on Stiles, since apparently everyone in his pack is an asshole. 

Emma grabs his phone to read the screen and smirks at him. 

“So when are you bringing Stiles around so the rest of us can meet him?” she asks. 

“When you’ve all graduated obedience school,” Derek retorts, snatching his phone back and deleting Mark’s text. “Thanks for the water,” he remembers to add, grudgingly, before he takes off. 

Five minutes later Derek’s phone goes off again. When he sees it’s a call from his Uncle Peter, he has the barest sliver of hope that it might actually be relevant. But no.

“Stiles seems very interested in a set of nipple clamps,” is what the call opens with, and Derek almost hangs up on him. But for some reason -- morbid curiosity, probably, or some sort of deep seated masochism -- he doesn’t. 

“What.” 

“Well, his Argent friend is looking at a relatively vanilla vibrator/dildo set, but Stiles is gravitating towards the fetish gear. Have you two talked about this?” 

Derek lets out a whine. It’s pathetic and he doesn’t even try to deny it. His uncle makes a sympathetic noise. 

“If you need some tips, I’m sure --”

“No. Unnecessary,” Derek manages to say, practically strangling the words in his haste to get them out. 

“But if you aren’t sexually compatible --” 

“Oh my God,” Derek says, wrenching the phone away from his ear and seriously contemplating throwing it into the river. And changing his number. And then moving to Alaska. He’s heard good things about the pack there. Like the fact that they let their members enjoy some measure of privacy. When he finally brings the phone back, wincing in anticipation, his uncle is still talking like Derek hadn’t interrupted. 

“I understand that once you’ve been together awhile, it’s hard to satisfy --” 

“No,” Derek says, horrified and fumbling to end the call. “I have to go,” he says, maybe before he hangs up. He’s not sure, but he honestly. Does. Not. Care. 

He can hear Emma laughing at him from where he left her, and Derek slumps against a tree and tries to forget that conversation ever happened.

 

The next hour and half of his shift is quiet. Which he appreciates. After Aaron shows up, Derek goes home, intent on burying himself in work while the house is empty, then going back to Stiles’. 

Naturally, that means when he gets home, Erica is lying in wait in the foyer, wearing his mom’s winter coat to mask her scent. She tackles him to the ground and Derek. Derek doesn’t even try to get away. He just crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling while Erica gets up and hangs up the coat. 

“You are pathetic,” she tells him, sounding amused. 

Derek shrugs and lets her pull him to his feet. 

“Stiles knows that you’re lying to him,” Erica says, serious now, and Derek turns and walks to the stairs while she adds, “Hey, Stiles is my friend, okay? And if you’re going to be a complete dick, or if you never plan on not lying to him, then you should stop stringing him along. He deserves better than-”

“I know.” 

Erica’s rant cuts off and she pounds up the stairs to glare at Derek. “Okay, now you’re being _really_ pathetic. Just ask the alpha, tell Stiles what’s up, and you guys will be cool again.”

Derek trudges up the stairs to the third floor and ducks into his room, shutting the door firmly in Erica’s face and locking it for good measure.

“Fine!” she yells through the door. “But you won’t have anyone to blame but yourself if he breaks up with you!”

He hears her stomping down the stairs and then slamming the front door before he turns on his computer, intent on ignoring the problem until he can’t any longer. 

 

When Laura pulls in front of the house a few hours later, Derek saves his work, tucks his phone and climbs out the window. By the time Laura makes it to his room, he’s already at the tree line. 

“Pussy,” she says, and Derek gives her the finger and decides it’s not worth the risk to go back for his car. Erica probably complained to Laura after she left, and Laura will want to have her version of a heart to heart -- which involves a lot of yelling and smacking Derek. He’s going to pass on that. 

 

 

++

 

 

“Did you walk here? Also, your uncle is fucking weird,” Stiles says when he opens up the door and finds Derek on his porch that evening. If Derek is going to interrupt his delicious meal of microwaved pizza after having his family follow him around all day, Stiles isn’t going to hold back. “He followed us into a sex shop and kept making _suggestions_.” 

Derek face goes from normal annoyed to extra super annoyed as he pushes into the house. “Laura,” he says shortly, and it takes Stiles a moment to realize that Derek is answering his question. Before Stiles can ask if there’s something wrong with Derek’s car, he adds, “And yeah, I know.” He sounds disturbed as he looks at Stiles accusingly. “He called me to say that he was sorry I couldn’t satisfy my boyfriend, and asked if I needed any tips.”

“Sorry, dude,” Stiles shrugs cheerfully and grins when the microwave beeping makes Derek turn his baleful glare somewhere else for a moment. “That’s what happens when you make your family stalk me.” 

“They weren’t stalking, they were worried,” Derek shoots back, and then blushes when Stiles makes an ‘aha’! noise. 

“So you’re not going to try and convince me that it was a coincidence I saw no less than five of your family members following me today. Good.” Stiles gets his pizza and sits down at the kitchen table and gestures for Derek to do the same. “I saw the guy again,” he adds casually when Derek finally shakes his head and sinks into the chair.

“What?” Derek demands and he’s up and around the table faster than Stiles thought people could _move_. Stiles finds himself pushed back from the table with Derek hunched over him as he checks him over anxiously. 

“Dude, I’m fine,” Stiles says, softer, because Derek looks genuinely freaked out. He knocked over his chair and everything. “Seriously, I’m fine. He was just sitting in a car and he drove off as soon as I pulled in the drive. I took a picture of the license plate and sent it to my dad already, and trust me, he freaked out enough for all three of us. Did you not see the patrol car outside?” Derek is practically hyperventilating, and he drops to his haunches and buries his nose against Stiles' neck as his arms wrap around Stiles in a crushing hug. 

“I should stay here tonight,” Derek finally says. Under the circumstances, Stiles isn’t about to argue. If some crazy dude manages to get past an armed deputy and into his house, it’d be nice to have to have the manpower odds in his favor. Plus he has to go back to school in a few days and he hasn’t seen his boyfriend nearly enough yet. He nods and Derek loosens his grip enough for Stiles to get back to his pizza. 

“Hungry?” he offers and Derek shakes his head and stands up, reluctance running through every line of his body even as he walks back around the table to right his chair. His eyes are darting around the kitchen suspiciously, and he paces around for a minute before he positions himself so he’s between Stiles and the door. It seems like he’s trying to be stealthy about it, so Stiles just shrugs internally and decides it’s safe to go back to his food. “Okay. I sent a picture of his face to Allison yesterday, and she must have showed her dad, because there were a couple of her dad’s friends following us around, too.”

“Let me see it.” Stiles gives Derek his most unimpressed look, until Derek looks a little apologetic and adds, “please.” Stiles digs out his phone and finds the photo before he hands it over. 

He jerks his hand back when Derek actually lets out a growl. Stiles doesn’t think now is really the time to tell him that his voice isn’t close to deep enough to pull it off. “Nathan.” 

“Seriously?” Stiles asks, jerking up from his chair to look at his phone again, like another glance will make him recognize the man as well. “You know him?”

Derek looks up at Stiles like he’s forgotten that he was even there. His mouth opens and then closes again, but he doesn’t say anything and Stiles sinks back into his chair, mouth tightening into an unhappy line. 

“Another thing you won’t explain, huh.” 

“He was... friends. With my... ex-girlfriend,” Derek says haltingly, like a peace offering. His eyes are trained somewhere over Stiles’ left shoulder. “He blames me for her going to prison.” 

“Prison?” Stiles blurts out, eyes open wide with surprise. He bites back all the other questions that he wants to ask because he can see Derek wavering. There’s an anxious pause, but when Stiles just nods at him, he goes on. 

“She, uh. Tried to burn down my house. With my family in it.” He says it slowly, but practiced, like he’s said the words so many times they barely have meaning. Which, holy shit, that explains a lot. Like Stiles’ dad’s inexplicable protectiveness of Derek, and Derek’s hermit-like ways. He thinks for a seconds about Allison’s aunt, but Derek is talking again and Stiles tunes in just in time to hear Derek say, “I should have known he was in town-” 

And, no. Stiles isn’t going to let that guilt trip go down. “Derek, there was literally no way that you could have known. Beacon Hills isn’t _that_ small.” Derek looks like he wants to argue, but Stiles keeps talking. “If this guy wants revenge or something -- just tell my dad what you told me, and he’ll have a deputy go over to your house, too. How long has it been since you last saw him?”

“Nine years. And it’s complicated,” Derek says flatly, and Stiles tries to arrange his face in an expression that conveys ‘please explain to me how this is complicated’. “He just wants to hurt me, and -” Derek breaks off again, swallowing audibly before something in his expression changes. Hardens. “Yeah, I’ll talk to your dad.” 

“Great,” Stiles says even though he kind of desperately wants to know what Derek didn’t say. “He’s due home in fifteen minutes, which means he’ll be leaving work in five, so you should probably call him now. I need to start on the paper I have due on Monday, so if we could move the guard dog act upstairs, that would be helpful.” 

“I’m not a guard dog,” Derek grumbles, but after Stiles shoves the last bite of pizza in his mouth and heads up to his room, he follows. 

 

Stiles’ dad ends up being an hour late after Derek’s phone call -- which he insisted on making from the hallway, so Stiles couldn’t even eavesdrop. After he hung up, Derek had then settled on Stiles bed and glared at the wall, brooding and twitching whenever a car drove by and generally making it impossible for Stiles concentrate on even something as awesome as the origin of punk for his history paper. Especially since he would way rather be googling everything he can find about Derek’s crazy ex girlfriend who apparently tried to burn down his house. He manages to persevere until his dad gets home. Shortly after he comes upstairs to say good night, Stiles finally has to give up. He changes into his pajamas under Derek’s watchful eye and brings his laptop over to the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Watching a movie,” Stiles says as he slides under the sheets. He settles the laptop on his knees and queues up _The Princess Bride_ adding, “Also cuddling, because I am awesome at multitasking.” It only takes a second for Derek to take the hint and shed his jeans to join him. Once Derek is settled, Stiles leans into him and presses play, pretending he doesn’t notice how tense Derek still is. 

Stiles usually tries to rein in his commentary during movies, because he gets annoyed when other people do it. But he’s seen this movie about a hundred times, and Derek’s seen it at least four times (with Stiles), so he’s not exactly worried about ruining the movie watching experience. 

“My dad’s downstairs. With his gun,” Stiles tells Derek. He get a acknowledging grunt, but Derek is still strung more tightly than Scott when Allison doesn’t text him back right away, so he tries again. “Do you want to chew on my neck? I know that always calms you down.” And Derek gets this crazy gleam in his eyes whenever the bruises he likes to leave all over Stiles fade, until Stiles lets him at it again. Not that he doesn’t enjoy it. Stiles has just never had someone quite so invested in sucking bite marks into his skin. 

“I’m calm,” Derek lies, and Stiles rolls his eyes. “And I don’t chew, I just...” Derek apparently runs out of grievous mistruths at this point, so Stiles finishes, “Like making people think I’m really into soft core cannibalism?” They usually end up crowded just like this on Stiles’ tiny dorm bed while Derek uses Stiles as a chew toy. Until Stiles gets antsy and has to either get up or actually do something about the semi Derek’s trained him into sporting pretty much whenever he gets his teeth near Stiles’ skin.

“No,” Derek says anyways, petulant, but his mouth quirks in a tiny smile as he slumps a little further into the pillows. “Be quiet, I’m watching the movie.”

Stiles nods seriously. “As you wish,” he says teasingly and grins when Derek pinches his side. 

They’ve almost made it through the Fire Swamp when Derek goes tense again. Stiles sighs, because he’s actually getting pretty tired, and he doesn’t want to deal with talking Derek down enough to sleep. But Derek is throwing back the covers and doing some seriously ninja moves to get out from under Stiles and to the window. 

“Uh, what-” Stiles starts, but Derek just leans out the window and then makes this weird rumbling noise in the back of his throat. Stiles has about a second to think, _wow, that growl was way better than the last one_ , before Derek _leaps from Stiles’ second story window_. 

Stiles lets out what some might qualify as shriek, and shoves his laptop away to run over to the window. Derek isn’t lying on a heap on the ground, though. Between the street light and the nearly full moon Stiles can see a shadowy figure leaping over Mrs. Johansen’s flowers. A figure which looks suspiciously like Derek’s totally jeans-less silhouette. Deputy Winters leans out the window of his cruiser and Stiles just raises his hands helplessly.

A minute later, Stiles’ dad is knocking on his door. “Are you okay?”

“Derek just jumped out the window,” Stiles says, before he can think better of it. His dad opens the door, expression incredulous. Stiles can relate, he’s feeling pretty freaking incredulous right now, too. 

“That’s not some sort of euphemism, is it?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, then gestures at the window and then at his Derek free room. “No. He for real just jumped out the window. Then took out Mrs. Johansen’s gardenias.” 

“Are you -- really? The window?” His dad comes over and crowds Stiles away from the window to look for himself. They spend a moment in silence in respect for the sheer amount of what the fuckery that just went down. Then Stiles’ dad glances at the floor and groans. “Are those his pants?” 

Nodding doesn’t seem to give his dad any more idea than Stiles has, but the window is shut and locked in short order, and his dad says firmly, “If he wants back in, he can use the door. I’m going to talk to Jeff, tell him to keep an eye out for Derek. Then I’m going to sleep. There’s a patrol car over at the Hale’s, as well,” he says, when Stiles opens his mouth to protest. 

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles sighs, because he knows there’s not much else his dad can do if Derek decides to run away from police protection. He does text Laura though, _Derek escaped, pls return if found._ Levity is keeping him from panicking about this Nathan guy kidnapping Derek, or shooting him, or worse. Especially since Derek ran away sans pants and cell phone. At that thought, levity stops doing its job, and it’s hours before he can get to sleep. 

 

 

++

 

 

Finding out about Nathan from Stiles catches him off guard. He thinks he knows why his family wouldn’t tell him that important detail, but it still stings that they don’t trust him after nine years. Derek tries not to dwell on it, dutifully putting in a call to the sheriff and then settling in to wait for Stiles to finish whatever work he has. 

Stiles doesn’t press him for information, which Derek appreciates. Even if he can’t bring himself to say so. He just watches Wesley and Buttercup and tries not to make Stiles any more suspicious than he already is. It doesn’t really help the guilt he’s already feeling when Stiles tries to reassure him. When it will be Derek’s fault if he does get hurt.

Derek doesn’t think when he catches the omega‘s scent. He could blame it on his control being a little shaky from stress, or because he didn’t get a chance to run with his pack on the full moon. Or because the omega is right outside Stiles’ house. But those reasons don’t come until later. Now, it’s just _threat_. To Stiles, to Derek, to his pack. He doesn’t think, just jumps. 

It’s not until after Derek is about to leap over the gardenias across the streets that he has a fleeting thought toward explaining this to Stiles. He thinks he can still vaguely hear Stiles talking, even though he’s focusing all of his senses on the omega. 

But he catches a glimpse of a dark form running, fear sweat mixing in with the scent of unfamiliar werewolf, and Derek thinks he can think of something once everyone is safe from this threat. 

 

Which is why it’s a little anti-climatic to chase a shadow to the edge of the preserve and finding, after Derek finally manages to catch up, that he’s been chasing a kid. Not to mention guilt inducing, since before he realized, he’d grabbed the girl’s - who can’t be more than twelve - shoulder and flung her at a tree. She snarls at him before collapsing in sobs at the base of tree. The cut on her cheek is already healing. He sniffs deeply to check, but it’s definitely the same werewolf he smelled the day before. 

For once, he actually wishes one of his siblings were here. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Derek finally decides on. Not again anyways, but she tenses like she’s going to run again. “I’m a werewolf. Part of the Hale Pack.” She’s still half shifted, and doesn’t look capable of speech, so he continues, “You’re in our territory.” 

He pauses, hoping she’ll give him something, but she’s silent. Derek makes an executive decision. 

“Look, I’ll take you to my Alpha, okay? You can tell her what happened. If there’s a hunter after you, we can help you.” She still looks distrustful, and Derek sighs. 

“What pack are you from?” he asks, as gently as he can manage. He tries to look as nonthreatening as possible, but there isn’t much he can do about having just chased the girl three miles. Or his eyebrows, according to his sister and Stiles.

She gasps for breath a few more times, before she whispers, “Kern.” 

Derek winces. The pack in Kern was insular, more so than most of the west coast packs. They’d been wiped out over a year ago after an earthquake had left them vulnerable, and their territory had been taken over by a coven .There wasn’t any proof that the earthquake had been induced magically to weaken the pack, but that was the consensus. Anyone left had scattered, joining other packs. He hopes that she hasn’t been running since then. Especially if there was a hunter after her. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. When he leans forward to help her up, she jerks back and snarls again. “Look, just come with me back to my Alpha. She’ll be able to protect you,” Derek says. He really hopes he’s not lying, because she looks like she’s starting to believe him. She stands and dusts herself off, still keeping a good three feet between them. Derek grinds his teeth when he reaches for his phone and realizes he left his jeans, with the phone in the pocket, back on Stiles’ floor. Hopefully no one decides to attack first and ask questions later when they get back. Fighting in his underwear is the kind of story that will haunt him forever.

“I’m Derek Hale.” He points to the northwest and says, “My alpha’s house is that way. We’ll go there first, and get everything taken care of for you, alright?” She doesn’t say anything, but she does follow when Derek takes a step in that direction. “What’s your name?” Derek tries. 

It takes another fifteen minutes of walking before she responds. “Madison.” 

Derek nods and waits another minute before he tries again. “Are you by yourself? My sister, Laura, said she thought you might have been traveling with someone.” He makes sure to keep Madison in his peripheral vision in case she decides to run again. 

“My brother,” she says, a little more cagily. “We got split up.”

Derek tries to ask more questions, but unless she can nod or shake her head to answer, Madison stays silent for the rest of the walk. By the time they get to Gram’s place Derek can hear her stomach growling loudly. 

“Derek,” a voice calls sharply, and Derek jerks to a stop as his Great-Aunt Susan drops from a tree in front of him. “You weren’t paying attention,” she scolds. Her gaze is focused on Madison though.

“I found one of the omegas,” Derek offers weakly, and she gives him a look before giving Madison a reassuring smile. “Uh. This is Madison.” He turns to Madison and waves her forward. “This is Susan. She’s going to take to you to the Alpha.” 

“Really?” she asks, but she waves Madison forward and says, “Come on, I’ll show you in. Don’t worry, she doesn’t bite.” 

Derek trails behind them but his aunt tells him to get some sleep. 

“Weren't you staying with Stiles tonight?” she asks, and Derek groans and turns to head home. Everyone in his family is terrible.

 

Laura is still there when Derek gets home. He tries to sneak back in through his window, but he finds out the hard way that she hung a set of freaking sleigh bells from his window and they jingled loudly enough when he opened it that Derek was almost startled off the window sill. By the time he regains his balance and gets in, Laura is sitting in his computer chair with his desk lamp pointed at the window, temporarily blinding him while she sits in the shadows. 

“What do you want?” Derek says shortly. He might be more impressed by her staging if she hadn’t done this before to both Mark and Will. 

“Well, I was going to yell at you for running out on Stiles, but Isaac just called about Madison, so I suppose you had a good reason.” She looks at him critically, and Derek resists the urge to pull his shirt down to cover his briefs. Instead he glares at her. 

“Anything else?”

“No. But just because _I_ know why you jumped out of a window like a _crazy person_ , doesn’t mean Stiles does. And if you and Stiles break up, and he stops bringing me cookies?” Laura pauses ominously before she stands, abruptly much closer than she was, and pokes him hard in the chest. “We will have words, Derek. And by words, I mean I will kick your ass.

Derek is still trying to process that as Laura stalks out of his room. He thinks that he’ll be kicking his own ass if that happens, and Laura will have to get in line. 

He tries to sleep, but all he can think about is that if Nathan is ruthless enough to chase a kid around the state, he probably wouldn’t hesitate to hurt Stiles. Which only makes him feel more guilty. His whole pack is in danger, have been searching for the threats to their territory for the last two days, and all Derek can worry about is his boyfriend.

Derek shouldn’t feel this strongly about Stiles. They’ve only been together a few months, and most of that just on weekends. It’s not enough time to decide if he can trust someone with this. If it was just him, sure. But the last time Derek decided to trust someone enough to tell her that he’s a werewolf, she tried to kill everyone he loves. 

It makes him a little wary. 

After an hour of restless turning, Derek gets back up. He catches sight of his grim face in the dark window pane and his mouth turns further downward. It’s two in the morning, and he’s trying not to imagine what Stiles will say if he finds Derek sitting on his roof. Trying to convince himself that Stiles will be in less danger if he stays away. 

It’s not working. Derek pulls on another pair of pants, doesn’t bother with shoes, and climbs out the window again. 

He shifts just enough to give him some extra speed on the run to Stiles’ house. The sheriff’s cruiser is in the driveway, as well as a patrol car in the street, so Derek circles around the garage to the back of the house. There’s a tree close enough to the house that it’s an easy jump from one sturdy branch to the roof. From there it’s simple to find a semi comfortable spot out of anyone’s line of sight. Derek crouches, listens. All he can hear from Stiles’ room is even breathing and the familiar cadence of his heartbeat. Further, he can hear the sheriff’s faint snores, the humming of the old refrigerator. But nothing threatening. 

Derek settles in for the night.


	5. Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Startling violently because of a text alert going off at six in the morning is going down on Derek’s list of least favorite ways to wake up. He doesn’t roll of the roof, at least. It’s the third time he’s woken, first when Stiles woke up and fidgeted for a while before he finally got up and went to the bathroom, and then when the shift changed and a new deputy took over. This time he just hears Stiles curse and shove the blanket away. Probably reaching for his phone. A second later, Stiles curses again, loud enough that John knocks on his door again. After Stiles assures him that he is not being attacked, John says that he’s going back into work.

“Sure, dad. See you tonight,” Stiles says. His dad leaves, and Stiles’ bed creaks, before he mutters something like, “Bastards jumping out of windows and leaving their obviously really stupid boyfriends to worry all night.” He hears the bed shifting for nearly fifteen minutes before Stiles’ breathing evens out again.

Derek tries not to think about that. But it’s nearly impossible. He hadn’t really thought of what Stiles’ reaction to him running after the omega, except in the context of being strange. And now he finds out that the reason Stiles was sleeping so restlessly was because he was worried about Derek? He wishes he could just go inside and apologize. Without an explanation, he doesn’t think it will accomplish anything. 

The sheriff leaves, and Derek has to get off the roof since the sun is going to rise soon and it will be kind of difficult to be stealthy at that point. He swings off the tree, grabs the key from behind the loose brick of the foundation, and opens the back door. He’ll get his stuff and he’ll come back. Later. And try and talk to Stiles. 

 

 

++

 

 

When Stiles wakes up again around noon he sees Derek’s jeans are gone. Which means that either Stiles’ dad gave them to Derek, or Derek got them from Stiles’ room, but either way his phone is void of any sort of communication about Derek’s extreme parkour moment. Not that Stiles was waiting for an explanation or anything. What could he possibly have to be worried about? At this point he kind of wants a break from Derek and his issues. 

Instead he calls Allison, since he suspects that even when she’s also on lock down with her parents dogging her every move she’ll be admirably cool. 

“Please tell me they found this guy,” Allison greets Stiles, sounding irritated, and Stiles has to take back his earlier assessment. “My dad is about to drive me crazy with his hovering.” 

“No news on that front,” Stiles says apologetically. “But Derek jumped out my window around eleven last night, and didn’t wander home until six.” 

“Wow. I was going to tell you that my dad still has his hunting buddies over, and I’m pretty sure they were patrolling the town last night,” Allison says, “but I honestly think your story is weirder.”

“Patrolling the -- they do realize that Beacon Hills already has a police force, right?” Stiles asks incredulously. And he thought his dad's helicopter parenting was bad.

“It’s my dad,” Allison says, like that explains it. “Tell me more about Derek jumping out your window,” she prompts, and Stiles sighs. 

“So I guess Derek knows the guy? Or his ex did. Did your dad say anything else about him?”

Allison goes quiet for long enough that Stiles pulls his phone from his ear to make sure the call is still connected. 

“Yeah,” Allison finally says, voice solemn. “Not to me, but I heard him talking to Jim about it. Apparently he’s one of my Aunt Kate’s friends.” 

“Your aunt in prison?” Stiles asks, already dreading the answer. He would really like the answer to be no -- the guy probably has tons of friends who are convicts. The odds of Allison’s aunt being the same person who tried to burn down Derek’s house are astronomical, right? Even if they both went to prison nine years ago. Oh god, Stiles is so not prepared for this level of skeleton in closet. 

“Yeah. I guess I know why my dad doesn’t like talking about her,” Allison says bitterly. “And why he doesn’t get along with the Hales. I looked it up last night after I heard them talking -- it was their house she tried to burn down.” 

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes. He has to literally bit his tongue to catch himself from telling Allison anything Derek would probably not appreciate him saying. Like how he’s pretty sure that Allison’s aunt was dating a high school aged Derek at the time. Instead, he says, “Do you mind if I come over? My dad doesn’t want me to go out by myself until they find this guy again.” 

“My dad will be hovering,” Allison warns him and Stiles laughs. 

“Trust me, I’m used to it.”

 

Stiles picks up lunch on the way over. Curly fries won’t answer his questions, but they’ll make him feel better. Especially with Allison’s dad looking like he’s about to pat Stiles down for weapons before letting him in. He hopes mace isn’t the kind of thing that will have him turned away at the door. Or turned over to the mercenary looking guys Stiles can see over Mr. Argent’s shoulder. 

“Dad, let him in!” Allison says from the stairs, glaring at her dad when he hesitates. 

“Dude, don’t worry, I’m totally harmless,” Stiles says, trying to maintain a grin even under the force of Mr. Argent’s stare. This is the first time he’s ever seriously regretted his usage of ‘dude’. He’s pretty sure he saw that same expression in _Dirty Harry._

“Come in,” Mr. Argent finally says, then smiles. The glaring was more friendly. Stiles glances over at Allison, then shrugs and goes in. The shark grin thing must not be hereditary. 

“I’ve got extra burgers if anyone’s hungry,” Stiles offers, but Allison shoos him up the stairs before anyone can respond. 

“You have zero sense of self preservation, do you,” Allison says once they’re safely in her room. 

“Eh, it comes and goes,” Stiles tells her. “Do you mind if I eat in here?” See, he has self preservation. He’s just way more worried about what Allison thinks of him than her father. Best friend’s girlfriend’s opinion trumps her dad that Stiles will probably never see again. Especially best friend’s girlfriend who could turn him into a human pincushion with her mad archery skills.

After Allison clears off a space on her desk for Stiles, she sits down on her bed and hugs a pillow to her chest. She looks considerably less confident than she normally does and Stiles puts off his food for another minute to ask, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just sick of all these people in my house,” Allison says. “I don’t know why my dad can’t just leave it for the police.” 

“Maybe he feels responsible. The guy was friends with his sister.” 

“Yeah, but-” Allison breaks off the sentence when her door opens. Mr. Argent appears in the doorway and smiles at them like he knows they were just discussing him. 

“Allison, you left your phone in the kitchen.” 

“Thanks,” she says, holding out her hand. He doesn’t move and Stiles sees Allison staring hard at her dad before she heaves a sigh and slides past her dad, glaring at him warningly as she speedwalks to the stairs. “I’ll be right back,” she bites out. 

Stiles waves. Her dad doesn’t leave, just stares at Stiles as he stuffs more curly fries in his mouth. 

“So, how long have you been dating Derek Hale?” he asks, and Stiles coughs and finishes chewing slowly, dragging it out as long as he can before he has to respond. 

“What?” He doesn’t hang around many parents besides his dad and Mrs. McCall, but he’s pretty sure it’s not standard protocol to ask your kid’s friend about their significant other. 

“Since January, correct? Have you noticed anything strange about him? Or his family? Has he ever hurt you?”

“Um, no,” Stiles says slowly, because Derek is really none of Mr. Argent’s business. Considering what his sister did to the Hales, Stiles is honestly surprised that he would even ask. He’s definitely noticing some strangeness hanging around Allison’s family, he thinks, as Mr. Argent’s eyes narrow. 

“No secretive activity, or,” Mr. Argent pauses to laugh softly. It’s even creepier than his shark smile. “Or full moon revelries?”

“Not a one,” Stiles returns flatly and squints at him as Allison pushes past, looking like she sprinted to the kitchen and back. 

“What are you doing?” she asks suspiciously. 

“Just having a chat,” her dad says with another, slightly more sincere smile. “I’m going out for a while, sweetheart. I’ll see you at dinner. Be careful,” he adds, staring at Stiles for another long moment before he finally leaves. 

“Your dad--” Stiles starts, and shakes his head. “Does he think Derek’s family is a cult or something?” 

“Ugh, I don’t even know. Half the time he’s normal, and the rest of the time he’s in the basement like he thinks he’s some sort of commando. He baked a cake yesterday, and I thought that maybe that meant he was cooling off, but then he was in the backyard doing target practice this morning.” Allison sighs and drops back onto her bed. “I wish I’d stayed at school, at least then I wouldn’t be stuck on house arrest all break.” 

“You and me both, man,” Stiles says commiseratingly, and offers her some fries. “Do you want to hang over at mine tomorrow? I was planning on marathoning season four of Buffy.” 

“Yes,” Allison says forcefully. “I need some snarky commentary. And ass kicking. Ooh, and red vines. Can there be red vines?” 

“Absolutely, there can be red vines,” Stiles agrees, and they end up piled on Allison’s bed watching Firefly with Scott on Skype until her dad gets home for dinner. 

 

When Stiles gets home Derek is leaning against the cruiser talking to Deputy Boyd. Stiles doesn’t know him as well, since Boyd had been ahead of him in school, and wasn’t old enough to have been around when Stiles was constantly at the station from nine through fourteen. Mainly he just knows what Erica has told him. None of which is fit for polite company. He really doesn’t know what it says about him that his friends like to use him as a sounding board for their sex lives, he thinks and waves at Boyd. Luckily, Stiles did a lot of seriously questionable research for Scott and himself in high school which made him pretty much immune to finding that shit embarrassing. Boyd says something to Derek that makes him frown and swing around to stare at Stiles. And now he’s getting glared down in his own driveway. Awesome.

For about half a second when he pulled up next to Derek’s car, Stiles had been really glad to see his erstwhile boyfriend. Now he remembers that he’s annoyed with him. Which is strangely concurrent with Derek’s epic frowny face making itself known. Derek comes over to stand by Stiles’ Jeep so he can emote at closer range.

“Where have you been? I tried to call you.”

“Was this before or after you jumped out of my window and were incommunicado for the next 12 hours?” Stiles asks. Derek glances sharply at Boyd before turning an imploring face back to Stiles. 

“I...”

Stiles waits, way more patiently than Derek deserves by this point, for an explanation, but none is forthcoming. As usual. 

“Okay, go home,” Stiles finally says, and feels a tiny bit of satisfaction at Derek’s stunned expression.

“What?”

“Go. Home. I don’t want to talk to you right now, we’ll just end up in a fight. Unless you have a reason for how freaking weird you’ve been acting? Has the guy talked to you? Or threatened you? I mean, yeah, I guess I would be freaked if my ex’s crazy partner in crime was back in town, but it doesn’t merit window jumping and stalking, okay? Not to mention all the other weird shit that I’ve put up with since we started dating. I really like you, but if dating you is going to come with people following me with guns and you lying and being all Cro-magnon -- just.” He sighs, unable to come up with any ultimatum he thinks he would actually be able to follow through on. “Please just tell me what the deal is.” 

Derek goes tense and leans forward, nosing against Stiles’ neck and inhaling deeply. His lips brush against Stiles’ pulse point when he speaks. “I want to.” 

"Don’t," Stiles protests weakly. Takes a step back. “So...?”

“I can’t.” Derek backs off, and Stiles groans. 

“Fine. Call me tomorrow, or something. Or whenever you can give me a better explanation.” 

Derek looks -- really, really conflicted. But he still goes. 

 

 

++

 

 

Derek sits in his car and tries to ignore Boyd’s mocking looks. Stiles went inside ten minutes ago, and he knows that if he hangs around much longer, he’ll notice. And the sheriff will be home eventually. 

He finally has to leave to take his turn on search duty, but it’s harder than it should be to put the key in the ignition. All he can think of is what Stiles said. 

“Not to mention all the other weird shit that I’ve put up with since we started dating.”

That wasn’t what Derek was expecting when he came over. He thought maybe he could give Stiles enough that he would explain the rest himself. More about Kate, or the people she ran with. He hadn’t expected Stiles to ask him to leave. He hadn’t thought that Stiles had noticed anything... strange about Derek. He’s not human, never has been, but he’s been brought up able to pretend, not too strong or too fast. Nothing that will stand out. Obviously that isn’t working.

 

 

When he gets to his Gram’s house, the yard is full of cars. There’s shouting coming from inside. He can pick out his mom’s voice, and Uncle Richard and Great Aunt Susan and her husband, but he stops listening in when he hears a voice demanding to talk to Madison. Like interrogating a twelve year old will help. 

It’s been three days since the hunter came to town, and they still haven’t found Madison’s brother, Dan, or the hunter. The preserve is huge, and Nathan has been covering his scent, so they haven’t even had a trail to follow for him, just narrowing further and further in on Dan, who, as far as they can tell, has been weaving across the area erratically since yesterday. His mom thinks that he’s looking for Madison. 

She has been staying at the alpha’s place. Laura had to report her officially, and take her into the station for a few hours, but the police have to track down a guardian, and since Aunt Jodi is already a foster parent, she’s taking charge of her. Mostly Madison doesn’t talk, could hardly be convinced into accepting clean clothes. Though she took to the food well enough. She asked to help look for Dan probably thirty times this morning, just while Derek was there. Laura called her a flight risk this morning when Derek came by to check in. Sometime after that, Gram ordered Erica to stay with her and Derek had to go join Aaron’s search group. 

There have been groups of hunters looking as well, but they mostly stay in town, and the police haven’t been involved in that aspect of the hunt yet. Won’t be, unless they find out about Madison or Dan. 

So he supposes that some of the pack are getting frustrated with their lack of progress. Most of them get along with hunters about as well as Derek does, and he knows that they’re all looking forward to when Chris Argent’s compatriots clear out of town. 

Derek goes in, skirting around the dining room where the ‘meeting’ is taking place. He can hear Erica talking, so he follows that and knocks on the door. 

“Are you my replacement?” Erica asks hopefully. 

“No, sorry. I’d say ask Gram, but she’s a little preoccupied.” Erica winces and nods. “I just wanted to say hi.” 

Madison looks up from where she’s sitting cross legged on the bed, and Derek pushes past Erica. 

“Did you find Dan?” Madison asks shyly and Erica startles a bit. 

“Not yet. We’re still looking. I don’t want the hunter to find him first, though. Any idea where he might be?”

Madison goes silent. Her hands twist together nervously and he can smell the salt of her tears. She sniffs and says, “Maybe? You won’t hurt him, will you?”

“As long as he doesn’t hurt us,” Erica says, but with less sarcasm than her usual tone. Derek glares at her. 

“No.”

“Okay.” Madison scrunches her eyes closed. “There was a stand of oak trees, with mountain ash around, and this little cliff that you’d fall into if you weren’t careful. That was the place we hid at the most. I never smelled any hunters around.” She looks at Derek hopefully. “Do you think that’s enough?”

Derek doesn’t want to get her hopes up. “I’ll try my best.” 

 

Gram is waiting in the hall when Derek leaves the room. She raises her eyebrow and Derek looks at his feet guiltily. He can’t help it, he’s seen that look for years and still isn’t immune. 

“Good job,” is all she says, though. “Hopefully we’ll have more than Meghan’s birthday to celebrate on Saturday. Take Erica and see if you can find the place she described.”

Derek moves to the side as the door practically flies open and Erica comes out grinning, before running down the hall to the kitchen. 

“I’ll have Viola stay with Madison,” she adds, shooing them out. “Be careful out there. I don’t want to have to explain any injuries to Stiles. I hear he can deliver quite a tongue lashing.” 

“You too?” Derek groans. “Does everyone have to know my business?” 

“It’s in my job description. When are you planning on formally introducing him to the pack? Before much longer, I hope.” She looks at him, face impassive, and Derek’s throat closes. 

“I haven’t -- he doesn’t know. I wasn’t sure if you w-would,” Derek has to stop and swallow, try to regain his equilibrium. “I wasn’t sure you’d approve.” Derek doesn’t say that she should know. Since Derek hasn’t even asked for permission to tell Stiles. 

She raises one imposing eyebrow. “Diana and I talked about it weeks ago. You shouldn’t drag it out. It only gets worse with anticipation.” 

She walks off, and Derek is left in the hallway alone. He’s not sure what his face is doing right now, but when Erica comes back, boots on and with a sandwich in each hand, she bursts out laughing.


	6. Wednesday, March 19, 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: Spoiler-y warning for this chapter in the end notes on the original character death.

Derek calls him tomorrow. Today. Whatever. The point is that Derek actually calls Stiles and asks him to come over. Maybe Stiles is being naive thinking that an explanation is forthcoming but he still goes. Even when Derek’s being stupid, Stiles wants him around. Which is probably a character flaw or something. But Stiles is giving himself a break due to the extenuating circumstances. Or maybe stress combined with extreme curiosity. 

Even when they’re making out on Derek’s bed, Stiles has a vague idea that talking will come after. Maybe that was too much for hope for. Especially after Derek had made a point of saying he was the only one home. 

“We are going to talk eventually, right?” Stiles pulls back enough to ask, just to be sure, and feels Derek go tense. His head is doing that weird cocking to the side thing, but Stiles isn’t sure what exactly there is to be confused about here. He pushes uselessly at Derek’s ridiculously chiseled jaw. “Ugh, is that a no? I really need it to be a yes that way I can continue kissing you without losing self respect.” 

“No, it’s just-”

Stiles has about half a second to be really happy that his pants are still on when he hears a crash from the hallway. The door bursts open and Stiles feels his face go slack with shock. Derek doesn't even have the decency to look surprised before he's up off the bed and then all Stiles can see is blanket. Since Derek apparently thought _throwing a blanket_ over Stiles was a good plan. As Stiles battles with the blanket he can hear Derek scolding someone, and then an insistent voice demanding to talk to Stiles. 

“Hey, is that Meghan?” Stiles calls as he fights his way out of the blanket. She’s hijacked Derek’s phone from him enough times that Stiles can recognize her voice easily. He just hopes that one of them will hear him before they get into an all out fight. He's just gotten his face free to catch a glimpse of Derek’s annoyed expression before Meghan is dodging around him and scrambling onto the bed.

“Hi!” she says, grinning brightly. Stiles grins back. He can’t help it, she’s adorable.

“How’s it going?” he asks, and her smile turns shy.

“It’s my birthday on Saturday,” Meghan says, twisting the hem of her shirt like Stiles has seen Derek do when he’s nervous.

“Awesome! You’re gonna be nine, right?”

“Mmhm! You wanna come to the party?” she asks, and then Derek is swooping in and tossing Meghan over his shoulder, saying, “Hold on,” before Stiles can respond. He frowns as Derek hustles out of the room. Stiles can feel his eyebrows going up incredulously and has to make a concentrated effort to bring his face to a neutral expression. Surely Derek has a good reason for manhandling his cousin. To go with all his other wonderful explanations.

Derek comes back in a minute later, looking grumpy. Which has become more usual lately, at least when he’s around Stiles.

“Sorry,” Derek says, and Stiles raises his eyebrows.

“It’s okay, I’d love to go to a birthday party,” Stiles says. He hasn’t had cake for like three weeks, he’s due. But Derek is doing his angry eyebrow thing and Stiles finds his own face mirroring it. “What?”

“You can’t come,” Derek says finally, sounding reluctant, and Stiles’ eyebrows go up.

“Okay...” he says slowly, but Derek doesn’t explain further, so Stiles asks, “Why not?”

“It’s just... family only.”

Well, that is... okay. Stiles swallows and manages a shrug because sure, family. He can understand that. Sort of. He never had family only birthday parties, but maybe it’s different with Derek’s family. He’s yet to meet half of them. He nods and Derek looks pained, but relieved as he says, “Meghan is going back over to Aunt Jodi’s. And I locked the door this time. ”

“I should probably go, actually,” Stiles says, reaching over to grab his phone off Derek’s nightstand as he stands. “I’ve got plans with Allison.” 

“Stiles-”

Stiles doesn’t get angry often, but he feels like Derek has been jerking him around all week. “No. I’m not going to -”

“I’m a werewolf,” Derek says, then promptly looks horrified at himself. 

“Um,” Stiles says, startled for half a second before the anger comes back full force. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

“No,” Derek says, sounding miserable. He _looks_ miserable, his whole body curling in on itself as he stands in the middle of the room.

“Oh,” Stiles says, and then, “Wait, what?”

Derek steps forward. He looks nervous, and determined, and Stiles waits for -- something. His whole stance shifts, and Stiles maybe lets out a tiny, tiny shriek when Derek’s face melts and reforms like silly putty into a pointy eared, mutton chopped, eyebrow-less version of itself. He has actual fangs and jesus fuck, _claws, holy shit_. Maybe he jumps a little, but whatever, his boyfriend just turned into a Supernatural-style monster of the week. He’s allowed an adjustment period, at least.

Stiles stares, mentally cataloguing the differences from regular Derek to werewolf!Derek. Derek changes back so quickly, he’s almost disappointed it’s gone, because it was starting to pass freaky and reach cool. 

“So that’s new.” Trying to slow down his thundering pulse with deep breaths and zen thoughts. But thoughts like _my boyfriend is a werewolf, holy shit. I’ve totally had sex with a werewolf_ keep messing up his breathing count.

 And, _of course_ , that’s when Derek runs out of the room. 

 

 

Stiles waits a few minutes, and Derek still doesn’t come back. He paces the room, then pinches himself a few times, but he doesn’t wake up, so he’s decides to run on the assumption that this isn’t a dream. Possibly it was a fever induced hallucination, Stiles thinks. It’s a definite possibility. He’s been under a lot of stress these last few days. Stiles sends a text saying, _Derek get your werewolf ass back here_ , but Derek doesn’t reply. Which, fine. Fine, Stiles will just wait. Until Derek gets done being a dick, or with his mental break, or whatever is going on with him.

And holy shit, so many things, so many weird things about Derek and his family now make _perfect sense_ if you factor in superhuman abilities. Like when Jeremy fell off the roof helping take down the Christmas lights, and was miraculously unscathed. And how Laura _always_ knows when his dad gets food from the Beacon Burger. He’s giving her extra cookies this year.

Eventually, Stiles gets bored of speculation. He wants Derek to actually come back and confirm all this. After twenty minutes pass with no sight of or response from Derek, Stiles caves and calls Derek’s mom. Diana will tell her son that he is being dumb, and Derek actually listens to her when she tells him. And answers her calls, even during really inconvenient times, like when he is supposed to be giving Stiles orgasms, and wow, he’s gotten off track. Luckily he doesn’t end up shouting ‘orgasms!’ in the phone when Derek’s mom answers, like he had to Mrs. McCall in seventh grade.

“Diana? And oh my god, are you seriously named for the Roman goddess of the moon? Talk about apt,” Stiles blurts out. “Wow. Okay. Hi.”

“Stiles. You sound distressed.” She sounds perfectly calm and it would be soothing if Stiles wasn’t wildly jealous.

“Yes. Maybe. Derek just, uh... came out to me? Like, with his whole face thing? Do you even know what I’m talking about here? I’m trying to be circumspect, but I feel like I’m having this conversation in a pitch black cave without a flashlight or a weapon, so.”

“Is he... not there with you?” she asks gently, and Stiles collapses back on Derek’s bed.

“No. He ran away after he showed me his magical face melting trick.”

He’s pretty sure he just heard muffled laughter in the background, and he’s not really appreciating their amusement in the face of his extreme freak out. Whoever that was is totally cut off from any future cookie runs he makes back to Beacon Hills.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh, yes? Just confused and maybe coming up on offended. Are you all werewolves? Like, a family of werewolves?” A horrible thought occurs and Stiles demands, “Was he supposed to tell me? You’re not going to kill me to keep your secret are you?”

“Of course not! And yes, most of our family are werewolves. There are humans, too, and as far as my husband’s study of our family tree can tell, it’s a dominant gene, but --”

“I’m sorry, and I will probably really want the science-y bits later, but right now I just need you to call Derek and tell him to come back here. I texted him, and he’s not answering his phone.” Stiles walks to the window and looks out. The patrol car is still there at least. He’d really hate for Nathan to come back and try to burn the house down while he’s in it.

“Oh dear. Why don’t you talk to Max while I call Derek from his cell,” Diana says, a thread of worry finally entering her voice. Not like there’s guy with a gun and a grudge running around or anything. Stiles doesn’t even know if a regular old bullet would kill a werewolf. Silver seems like it would get pretty expensive for a hobby. Unless people get paid to be hunters?

“Stiles?” Diana interrupts that train of thought, thank god. 

“Okay,” Stiles says, feeling extremely managed and for once quite glad of it. The phone is passed off to Derek’s father who talks to him about werewolf genetics until Stiles forgets about killing Derek. No, now he just wants to pass out from exhaustion.

“Stiles? Diana says that she couldn’t get ahold of Derek, but she’ll keep trying. Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, I just need. Answers. Or chocolate.” He glares at the wall, like that will make it magically yield chocolate -- and who knows, with how his day is going so far! -- then says, “Oh, and does my dad know? Am I allowed to talk about this - no, wait, duh, no, okay, but, really, so were you guys born werewolves, or did you marry into the family or get bitten, or drink from a wolf’s paw print or-”

“Stiles.”

“I’m sorry, this is just really. Crazy.”

Max laughs. “No, it’s fine. But maybe you should save your questions for Derek. He might be less liable to run if you seem interested rather than terrified.”

“I wasn’t terrified,” Stiles says, affronted. “I was totally calm, considering that Derek just said, ‘Hey, I’m a freakin’ werewolf’ then did his vampire from Buffy impression and _ran away_.”

“Call us if you need anything else,” Diana calls, and Max says, “Hit him with a rolled up newspaper if he does it again.”

“Am I allowed to make dog jokes?” Stiles says, managing a smile for the first time since Derek’s drive by confession. “Yes!”

 

 

++ 

 

 

It’s not a good plan. Running isn't actually a plan at all, but Derek saw the expression on Stiles’ face as he changed. Maybe staying and explaining would have been the better choice, would make Stiles understand, but Derek isn’t really known for making good choices. 

He runs for a long time. It’s getting dark by the time he’s run out of anger (at himself, at the Argents, and the omegas, and hunters, and everything that's brought him to caring what Stiles thinks of him) -- though it’s not so much gone as buried under exhaustion. Mostly from dodging his pack, and the hunters who are still searching the woods. He’s pretty sure that he ran into a couple of trees that are never going to be the same. Now that Derek’s thinking more clearly, he drops down onto a fallen tree and puts his head in hands. He thinks about finding Stiles, but he doesn’t think he would handle rejection very well right now. There’s a couple of terrified woodland creatures in his wake that can testify to his lack of control. 

Derek stays there for a long time. The sun is down by the time he gets up to jog home. He takes the long way around, not ready to talk to anyone. By the time he’s home, maybe he’ll change his mind. His dad is usually pretty good at the whole advice thing, and since he once was the human finding out werewolves existed, he might be able to give Derek an idea of how to approach Stiles. 

He’s passing through a grove of oak trees and trying to figure out how to ask his dad without any of his siblings overhearing when the ground gives out under his heels, and Derek’s skidding down a steep slope, unable to get any purchase from the loose earth under his hands. A bush slows his fall, and then he thuds painfully against the bare ground. 

There’s a warning growl to his side, and Derek rolls up to his feet. He thinks his wrist might have broken, but it’s already healing. A quick glance around has his eyes narrowing in annoyance. 

Of course. Erica and Derek had searched for hours the night before, and Derek just stumbles across the place that Madison had described. Nearly landing on top of Dan. Derek almost laughs. 

When he looks back at Dan, he’s already scrambling to his feet, terror making his face pale and eyes huge. 

“Hey, wait,” Derek says. He tries to figure out the best way to reassure Dan and let him know that Madison is safe. That he’s safe now. But instead he catches a crossbow bolt to the shoulder and lets out a yell instead. Derek manages to get up the breath to howl for backup, hoping that someone’s close enough to find them, and gets shot again for his efforts -- this time in the leg. 

Dan whimpers and tries to run, but the mountain ash Madison described is boxing them in on three sides, along with the sheer rock face. The fourth side is blocked by the hunter that just shot Derek. For a second he thinks it’s Chris, or one of his lackeys. They, at least, would realize that killing Derek would start a war that the hunters that follow the code don’t want. But it’s Nathan. Derek collapses on the ground. His hand grasps for the crossbow bolt, yanking it out with a grunt of pain, but he can already feel the wolfsbane working it’s way toward his heart. He probably should try to calm down, to slow his pulse so it will work more slowly, but he struggles to his feet instead. 

Nathan doesn’t even look at Derek, just keeps his eyes and crossbow focused on Dan. The kid is panicking, too much to even make a noise, and the ten feet seems like a mile with wolfsbane in his bloodstream. Derek manages to take a stumbling step forward before collapsing again, but it doesn’t do any good. . 

Nathan shoots Dan. It hits him in the center of his chest. A kid that young -- there’s not a chance of that healing, even if it wasn’t laced with wolfsbane. He swings the crossbow to focus on Derek, at the same time an answering howl sounds close by. Nathan startles and snarls at Derek, before he’s pulling out a gigantic fucking sword and advancing on Dan’s limp form.

“Kate always told me to make sure,” Nathan tells him, before he brings the sword down hard. Dan is a slight kid, and the sword is sharp. It slices through his midsection easily, and Derek gags. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back for the rest. By the time your pack gets here, you’ll be dead.” Nathan reaches down and grabs Dan’s hand and starts hauling the upper half of his body out of the canyon. 

Derek doesn’t bother moving again. Dan is already dead, and either he’ll make it to Deaton or he won’t. Moving will only make the decision faster. 

 

 

++

 

 

Stiles thinks about just lying in wait for Derek to come back, but the house is a little eerie without Derek’s huge family filling it up. Instead he goes home and spends the rest of the afternoon moping around the house, listening to the police scanner and wishing he was still a teenager so he could go snooping for answers without all the moral quandary and possibility of arrest. Then promptly smacks himself. High school is not something Stiles ever wants to experience again. He’s just going to be happy that he’s no longer in his ugly duckling stage and wait for Allison to come around after dinner so they can watch season four of _Buffy_ with enough beer and sugar to get hangovers and forget about Derek. 

“Yo,” Stiles says, holding up a bag of Red Vines when he answers the door. Allison smirks and holds up six pack of PBR. 

“I’ve got a ton of chocolate in my bag,” she tells him as she follows him into the living room. “But this is the only beer I could find in the house. Hunters are cheap as hell.”

“Excellent. My dad won’t be home until morning so we don’t have to be quiet,” Stiles tells her as cheerfully as he can manage as he clicks over to Netflix and queues up _Buffy_. 

“I’m pretty sure my dad had one of his guys follow me over here, but I think your deputy scared him off,” Allison says, kicking off her boots and claiming the right half of the couch.

“Even more excellent,” Stiles says as he flops down on the couch and pops open a Dr. Pepper, grinning when Allison tosses him a handful of mini Snickers. “College fun times, here we go.” 

Four episodes, a lot of beer and roughly twenty mini chocolate bars in, “I’m taking a holiday from dealing, happily vacationing in the land of not coping,” Buffy tells Willow, and Stiles salutes her with his beer. Truer words. Though he’s mostly spent the last episodes comparing Derek’s face to the vampire makeup and wondering why he’s not as chill as Oz.

Allison groans and pokes Stiles leg with her foot. “I forgot to tell you, my dad has had a bunch more of his hunting buddies hanging around the house lately. And they were patrolling the town again.”

“Wow, your dad is a straight up vigilante,” he says, probably a little too admiringly. But he’s had a hard day. Or at least a vague and annoying one. “This is starting to sound like an episode of Supernatural. And your dad is kinda creepy hot and all, but he’s no Dean Winchester. Maybe Jeffrey Dean Morgan.”

“Ew.” Allison wrinkles her nose at Stiles. She’s not quite slurring her words yet. “But seriously, you’re right. I don’t know what kind of hunters use crossbows. And act like some kind of militia. I swear to god, one of them _saluted_ my mom last night.” 

“Everyone in this town has apparently boarded the crazy train,” Stiles agrees, and manages not to say _including me_. He snickers and adds, “Or maybe everyone’s just acting crazy because of the full moon.” 

Allison laughs and doesn’t take him seriously, thank god, because Stiles would hate to have to tell Diana that he let the wolf out the bag less than twenty four hours after finding out. She says, “From what Scott’s told me, I’m surprised you haven’t broken into Derek’s house or your dad’s office to see my aunt’s file, or chased down this guy, just to shake him down for answers.” 

“Okay, that was one time, and I did actually really need my lacrosse helmet and I couldn’t get ahold of him. And I’ve never broken into anyone’s house but Scott’s. And I had a key, so.” Allison doesn’t need to know that Stiles procured the key less than legally, but it was worth it for a cessation in getting threatened by a baseball bat every time he rolled in Scott’s window. “Also, I don’t have a death wish, I’m not going to chase a guy with a gun down. I have matured, is what I am saying, and I can be patient. I can patiently wait for Derek to talk to me.” Probably. If that hasn't happened by tomorrow, he'll probably ending up staking out Derek's room again, but it still won't be breaking in. He's sure that Max or Laura will let him in.

On screen, Xander tells Anya, “I tend to hear the actual words people say and accept them at face value.” 

“See, he knows,” Stiles says. He looks over at Allison, who looks less than convinced. And grinning like she knows something.

“Well, I guess you don’t want to know what I found in my garage, then,” is all she says and Stiles abandons his pretense of maturity for sweet distraction.

“Dude, yes,” he stresses, reaching over to pause the episode while she pulls open her bag and dumps out a pile of odds and ends. His gaze lights on a little wooden box and a book that looks like it’s seen hard times as the most interesting. He picks up the book carefully and eyes the blank cover. There isn’t even a title on the spine. “What is this?” 

“I found it in a box of my aunt’s things.” She picks up the box and points at the flower and then the script at the top.

“Aconit napel bleu nordique?” Stiles tries to sound out and Allison snorts and repeats it correctly. Damn language majors. 

“It’s nordic blue monkshood, a type of wolfsbane. I looked it up online and the picture is the same flower on the box.” 

Stiles’ breath catches in his throat. “So, what?” he asks uneasily, the haze of alcohol clearing a little. Then tries to play it off when Allison gives him a strange look. “Your aunt is secretly a Harry Potter buff? Has a thing for a certain greasy potions master?”

Allison rolls her eyes at Stiles and flicks the catch on the box, opening it and tilting it down so Stiles can see the inside. 

“Wolfsbane bullets?” Stiles chokes a little on a laugh. Holy shit. Maybe Kate wasn’t so crazy. Or at least, not in the way he’d thought originally. Burning houses down was still in the realm of not sane, in his book. “And what about this other stuff?” He pokes at the black thing that looks like it belongs in a fishing supply store. 

“That’s actually from my dad’s stuff. It’s like a flash arrowhead. When it hits the target it flares. And there were also, um. Crossbow bolts that were silver tipped,” she says in a rush, like maybe faster will make it less likely to equal hunter of mythological beings.

“Um,” Stiles says. “So your family... thinks werewolves are... real? Too?”

He flips open the book and his eyes widen and he forces a laugh. Holy shit, Allison’s aunt was totally obsessed with werewolves. She has notes about all of Derek’s family, and how to _kill them_. Because she knew they were werewolves. Either there’s some mass hallucinogenic drug in the Beacon Hills water (which he isn’t ruling out!) or Derek’s ex-girlfriend was a freaking werewolf hunter. And Allison’s parents are as well. Stiles blinks then jerks his head up in alarm. “You don’t think... shit, you don’t think the guy -- this Nathan guy, believes in this too? Like, he thinks that Derek’s a werewolf and he’s gonna try and burn down his house again?” 

Allison’s face pales impressively. “They were talking about wolfsbane on the phone,” she adds. “And something about talking to the local alpha, and omegas -- I wasn’t going to tell you because it’s weird, right?” 

“Yeah, that is... weird. Really strange,” Stiles manages to choke out. “I have no idea what the hell is going on.” Which is… mostly true. He has vague platitudes and Derek's face. Not exactly solid evidence.

Allison bites her lip and says, “My mom caught me in the lock box in the garage and told me they’re looking for a ‘rogue hunter’. I thought she was just--”

“Really into LARPing?” Stiles asks a little desperately, while his mind is just repeating _real, real, holy shit this is real_. “I don’t know, man. I mean, it’s crazy, right? But like, mass belief, at least.”

They share a moment of silence for the sheer amount of crazy in their lives. Allison finally breaks it, asking tentatively, "Should we tell the police about this stuff?” Stiles shakes his head quickly and Allison agrees, but she looks as uncertain as Stiles feels. 

“That'd mean they’d have to go talk to the Hales about it, and - ” he stops and hopes that Allison gets where he’s going. He’s not sure he can actually bring himself to say ‘werewolf’ ever again. 

“Awkward. If they even took us seriously,” Allison agrees, nodding her head hard once. “But the way that my dad and his friends have been acting, I think they... they think it’s real, too.” 

“Let's not talk about this anymore,” Stiles says firmly, reaching over to press play on the show again.

“Yes,” Allison says, but she sounds less certain than she had a moment ago.

They sit watching a bunch of high schoolers battle great evil for roughly two minutes before Stiles says, “But maybe... you could just. Check. Subtle-like.” Allison gives him a look that says she doesn’t really think asking her parents about werewolves could be construed as subtle, under any definition of the word. He wilts slightly, but then, “No, really. I ask Derek weird shit all the time. I asked him if his sister was the Anti-Christ once, I mean how different is this?”

“Pretty different,” Allison says, raising her eyebrows disbelievingly. “But I could try looking around my house some more. And if they actually think werewolves are real, surely they'd have proof.”

“I can’t believe we are actually discussing this rationally,” Stiles says. “I kind of meant maybe you could check and see if your dad thinks werewolves are real, not ask your dad if he has proof my boyfriend is a werewolf.” 

Allison grimaces. “What are you going to do if my dad’s right? Maybe you could just wait until Derek turns into a monster on the full moon and kills you.” 

“He’s not gonna kill me!” Stiles protests, and then he has to grab his phone and find a lunar calendar for the past two months have been so he can prove to Allison that Derek has totally refrained from killing Stiles on a full moon before.

“Okay, fine. Either my whole family plus is crazy, or the Hale's are actually werewolves and my parents are werewolf hunters. I honestly can’t decide which of these things are worse,” Allison says, then laughs humorlessly. “I just realized this is totally a werewolf versus hunters territory dispute in Beacon Hills. This is a bad week to be sheriff, huh.” 

Before Stiles can come up with a response, the police scanner on the side table crackles to life. 

_“419 reported in the preserve.”_ There’s a short silence, the the radio crackles again and Stiles can hear his dad’s voice, incredulity showing through even over the crappy radio. 

_“Did you say a 4-1-9?”_

_“Yes sir, 419.”_

_“Location?”_

_“It was reported anonymously, we don’t have an exact location.”_

_“Send out the K-9 unit and available uniforms.”_

_“Copy that, Sheriff.”_

The scanner goes quiet after that, with the occasional burst of static. Allison gives Stiles a confused look. “419?”

“Dead body,” Stiles says, starting to feel alarmingly sober. “Oh my god. You don’t think-”

“No, but maybe--” Allison says, and Stiles really hopes he’s hallucinating this, because if Nathan killed any of the Hales... Stiles isn’t sure exactly what he’ll do. He clenches his jaw and when he looks up, Allison is staring at him in concern. 

“If you’re hallucinating, then so am I,” Allison tells him. Stiles hadn’t even realized he’d spoken aloud. “Come on, we’re going to find out once and for all. My bow’s in my car,” she says and pulls on her boots. 

“This is a terrible plan,” Stiles say immediately, but he dumps the candy wrappers off his lap and jumps up to get his jacket. He thinks one of them will probably get arrested or shot, but at least they’ll know.

“I should have gone to Mexico for Spring Break,” Allison sighs, and Stiles agrees wholeheartedly. 

 

 

++

 

 

When Derek wakes up, it’s dark. His shoulder is numb and when his vision focuses enough to look around, he sees Deaton leaning over him. Isaac is hovering behind him, and he can smell that Laura and Ryan have been close, as well. 

“Take it easy,” Deaton tells him when Derek tries to move. His mouth feels like it’s been scraped with sandpaper and he coughs until a bottle of water is shoved at him. 

“You almost died,” Isaac says, coming around and crouching down next to him. Between the three of them, Derek manages to get upright enough to drink some of the water. 

He looks over and sees Laura standing over half of a body. “Nathan killed him,” Derek says and Isaac moves until he’s blocking his vision. 

“Yeah, Laura is waiting to call the police over until you can move.” Ryan comes up behind him and smiles sympathetically. “That looks like it hurt.” 

“I can move.” 

No one looks like they believe him, but Deaton and Isaac help him to his feet, and Derek refuses to fall back over. No matter how much his body wants to. He risks a glance at his shoulder and winces. The black lines have receded to just around the wound, but it’s still puckered and barely healed. He feels his stomach roll, and then he’s bent at the waist, gagging. Ryan jumps back, cursing, and Derek feels a tiny vindictive burst of pleasure that this is as terrible for someone else as it is for him. The mess on the ground looks like tar or ink and Derek chokes at the taste.

When it finally stops, Deaton hands him the water again, and Derek grimaces as he rinses his mouth. 

“We didn’t have the exact strain of wolfsbane, so it’ll take longer for your body to dispel the poison,” Deaton says calmly. “Come on, you need to go back to the clinic.” 

“I need to find Nathan,” Derek retorts. He glances back at Dan again and swallows against the sick feeling in his throat. “He followed me right to Dan-”

“Good, you’re alive!” Laura interrupts with a grin. Her eyes are hard and she grabs Derek’s arm, pulling him away. “Now go home, you’re in my way.” 

“No-”

“Go. You’re fucking up my crime scene.” She looks pointedly at the mess by Derek’s feet, and then gives Derek another gentle shove. “Don’t make me call the alpha.”

“Fine,” Derek groans, and follows Deaton with Isaac on his heels. 

 

By the time they make it to Deaton’s car, Derek has thrown up enough black shit to make him so glad that he’s not human. If he got sick all the time -- just. No. Isaac hasn’t said much, which means that something else besides Dan went terrible wrong tonight, but he doesn’t even want to ask. He checks his shoulder again, and it looks better. The black puckering the edges of the wound is all but gone. He shows Deaton, who grudgingly agrees that he should be fine as long as he rests. Then follows him into the house and tells him to drink some tea before he sleeps. 

“Sure,” Derek says and tries to ignore Isaac’s accusing eyes. 

“You’re going to rest,” Isaac says, once Deaton has gone. 

“As soon as I find Nathan.” Derek grabs his jacket and pulls it on before he turns around and heads outside. Back towards the body. Isaac keeps pace with him, but Derek is intent on finding the trail again. 

“Deaton said-”

“I don’t care.” Derek mouth shuts with a click as soon as the words are out. He hates yelling at Isaac. He always looks like someone kicked him. He continues, voice quieter but no less determined. “Listen, I won’t be able to sleep until I find him. He’s already killed one person...” he stops and stares at Isaac’s guilty face. “What? Did he hurt someone else?”

“Uh. Not that we know of? But.” Isaac stops. Swallows noisily. “Madison is missing. She snuck out the window when the alpha got the call about you and Dan.” 

And if Madison gets hurt or if Nathan kills her, that’s another thing that Derek can lay on himself. His jaw clenches tightly. “Okay. I’m going to look for them.” 

“But-” 

Derek just turns and jogs back into the woods, zipping his jacket to cover the wound on his shoulder and his bloodied, ripped shirt.. After a moment he hears Isaac follow him. It doesn’t take long for Derek to find Nathan’s trail. Or, more specifically, the trail he left dragging Dan’s corpse through the woods. It splits though, and then Isaac whines. 

“I can smell Madison,” Isaac says unhappily. 

“Fine. You go after her, I’ll find Nathan.”

“I’m not letting you go alone,” Isaac frowns and draws himself up. 

“You’re going to let a kid wander around the woods alone with a hunter after her?” Isaac deflates slightly, and Derek presses forward. “I’ll go after him, you go after her. Call Viola with our coordinates so she can send everyone not with the police or the hunters to help.” 

“That sounds reasonable.” Isaac sounds suspicious, and Derek bristles, frustrated. 

“You’re wasting time!”

“Fine, fine,” Isaac says, pulling out his phone. Derek shifts enough to change his vision, then sets off after Nathan. He can hear Isaac reading off numbers, and Viola promising to send Adrian’s group over. It’s not that he doesn’t think he needs help. Derek just doesn’t want to lose Nathan again. The only reason he’s even here is because of Derek. 

He can still hear Isaac, faintly, but ahead of him Derek can hear someone -- two someone’s, one marginally quieter than the other. They’re crashing noisily through the brush, talking about a body. He can practically feel their panic from here. It’s familiar and -- Derek groans. 

Stiles. And someone else that he doesn’t recognize. He alters his trajectory to cross their path, sparing half a second of annoyance at having to deal with this, rather than finding Nathan. Telling Stiles this afternoon seems like a long time ago. If he’s scared of Derek now, he’ll listen and leave. If he’s not, well. Derek will have time to deal with it later. 

 

 

++

 

 

Stiles brings his lacrosse stick to supplement the mace he’s had in his jacket pocket for the last two days. It’s probably not the best protection but Allison gives him an approving nod when he digs it out of the closet. They have to sneak out the back door and climb over the fence to make it Allison’s car without the deputy on duty in front of the house seeing them. Stiles’ coordination has improved considerably since high school, but after a few beers it’s really hard to remember that. Especially after falling into a bed of petunias. 

When they pull into the parking lot near the jogging paths through the preserve, Stiles trips out of the car and turns on the police scanner app on his phone after he gets back on his feet. 

“Sounds like they only found half the body," Stiles says. Allison stares at him. “What, I’ve had this forever, don’t judge. And they'll be looking for the other half," Stiles adds, clutching his phone.

"Any idea where to start?" Allison asks eagerly and Stiles grins back before they both remember, right, dead body, and look away guiltily.

"Not really,” Stiles admits, before Allison says, "Maybe we should-"

"We should. We should -- go to Derek's. And make sure he’s okay. What with murderers running around the woods." If they get caught, his dad would probably even buy that.

Allison grin is sharp and a little terrifying. Suddenly he can see the resemblance between her and her father. "My mom made me bring the crossbow this time."

 

They take a path crossways across the woods, Allison using her phone as a flashlight. It’s not the best, and both of them jump every time they hear a noise. He’s really hoping that Allison has awesome aim, and whatever the opposite of a twitchy trigger finger is, because he really doesn’t want to get shot. He stays a step behind and to the right of Allison, just in case.

And, because Stiles has the worst luck ever, ends up literally tripping over the body. He chokes back a scream and scrambles away on his hands and feet until Allison hauls him up. Her face is horrified, and Stiles think that they’re both considerably more sober than they were. 

He steels himself before he turn back to look and sees -- a kid. Face frozen in terror, hands curled into fists. Stiles can’t help but be fiercely glad he doesn’t recognize him. When his gaze travels downward unwillingly Stiles gags a little. Okay, so seeing a dead body in real life is nothing like seeing one in a movie. Good to know. 

“Intestines,” is all he can manage to say, and Allison jerks her phone away so it’s no longer illuminating the body. 

“We should go,” she says, and Stiles fervently agrees. They skirt gingerly around the body and start back from the direction they came in.

Stiles freezes when he hears a dog barking. It’s swiftly joined by a few more, and then he hears branches cracking way too close by. "Shit. They got here faster than I thought."

"This way," Allison says and ducks between some bushes leading away from the growing sounds of dogs and boots.

"What if it was the hunter?" Stiles pants as he follows, trying to shove away the branches scratching at his arms and face with his crosse. The cold night air and the adrenaline has made him realize this great idea was considerably less awesome than he initially thought. Allison doesn’t even slow. 

“What if it was a werewolf?" she argues. "The police won’t even know what to do with that."

"And you do?"

Stiles shouts. Or he would have if there weren't already a hand over his mouth and an arm locked across his sternum. Allison whirls on the voice, crossbow up and ready. He’d feel better about his odds of survival if he hadn’t just seen her almost lose her supper over a dead body. Not that he can talk. And she does seem admirably steady. 

"Quiet," the guy hisses in his ear and Stiles abruptly stops flailing his crosse, recognizing Derek’s voice. Or maybe his smell. Stiles doesn’t know exactly how, he just slumps back against him in relief and wiggles his fingers reassuringly at Allison. 

“You’re okay,” he says as soon as Derek lets him move, before he’s turning around and pulling Derek into a crushing hug. He sees a glimpse of Derek's startled expression before he's burying his face into the leather of Derek's jacket. Maybe he nuzzles it a bit, but whatever, it's dark. Allison can't see anything.

He’s abruptly pushed away, and he turns to see Derek looking at him indignantly. Maybe. It’s hard to tell in the dark. 

“Are you drunk?” Derek demands, and Stiles thinks, definitely indignant. Edging onto scandalized territory. 

“A little,” he tells him, holding up his fingers about a centimeter apart to indicate how not drunk he is. Then he realizes that Derek probably can’t see it. Then he remembers that Derek’s a werewolf. Which makes him wonder if Derek can see better in the dark, since wolves can. He thinks. And if that’s how Derek found them, and the body, or if maybe he tracked them by sense of smell. He’s been told that dead bodies are very pungent. Allison comes up beside him, bow lowering while Stiles is still in the midst of his mental gymnastics.

“We heard about the body.” 

“Of course you did,” Derek sighs, then faster than Stiles can register, Derek is between them, grabbing hold of Stiles’ arm and marching him forward. “Come on,” he says over his shoulder, and Stiles sees Allison fall in line behind them reluctantly.

“Dude, I’m gonna have bruises,” Stiles complains. But quietly. He can still hear voices to their left. 

“Good. Maybe you’ll think twice about doing something so _stupid_ in the future.” He sounds more worried than pissed, though, and he loosens his grip a smidgen, so Stiles is going to let that one go. He’s heard that voice from his dad plenty of times. 

Aaaand now he’s going to have to wipe having ever compared Derek to his father from his brain. 

“Was it a werewolf?” Allison asks, and Derek’s fingers tighten further for a painful instant before he lets go completely and moves his hand to Stiles’ back. When Stiles looks up at him, his eyes are glowing blue. There aren’t any headlights to blame this time, either. 

“Holy shit,” he whispers, and Derek glances sharply at him before he nods reluctantly.

“He was a _kid_ ,” Stiles says. 

“Yes. A couple of young omegas traveling through our territory. They were responsible for those break ins a while back?” Derek doesn’t bother to wait for acknowledgment before he continues, ”A hunter cut the boy in half.” Stiles hears Allison gasp behind him, and he knows that wasn’t the explanation she was expecting. He doesn’t feel drunk at all now. He just feels sick. He was so busy being happy that it wasn’t anyone he knew that he forgot; a kid was out in the woods, and they got _cut in half_. 

“Was it-” he starts, and stops, unable to bring himself to finish the question. 

“It was Nathan,” Derek says. “The Argents are looking for him, as well. Which you should know,” Derek throws at Allison, before he stops abruptly. “And if you have any other questions, you can ask them in the morning.”

“But-” Stiles looks up and sees that somehow they’re back at the car. “How-” 

“My dad-” Allison tries, but Derek just pushes Stiles towards the car.

“Go home,” he demands before he turns and stalks back into the woods. 

 

Once Derek is out of sight, Allison unlocks her car, and they both get in. Neither speak until they’re back at Stiles’ house, and he feels almost sick with relief once they’re safely inside. 

As soon as the door is locked behind them, Allison turns back to Stiles, face stricken. “I can’t believe someone would kill a kid.” 

“I really hope my dad catches this guy,” Stiles says, and Allison nods in agreement. He feels kind of guilty as he adds, “But otherwise, I don’t really want to talk about it?”

“Yeah, me neither,” Allison says quickly, sounding relieved. She’s still pale and drawn, and Stiles knows he probably doesn’t look much better. “Jesus, my parents are werewolf hunters. I need to be more drunk.” 

 

++

 

It takes longer than Derek would have liked to escort Stiles and the Argent girl back to her car. He waits until they actually leave before he turns back, loping back to where the body was left. When he gets there, Adrian is there, frowning at his phone while Emma circles outward. 

“What was that?” Adrian asks, not even looking up. 

“A couple of humans. I took them to their car.” It’s not a lie, really, and Derek doesn’t want to deal with yet another dig about his relationship with Stiles. If he even still has one. “Any luck?”

“No,” Emma says. “His scent just disappears in this clearing.”

“Did Isaac find Madison?”

Adrian shakes his head. “No. The police are still with the other half of the body, and Isaac and Mark are still following her trail. We’re to keep looking in this area. If we don’t find anything by midnight, then we’ll switch shifts.” Adrian finally looks up, squinting at Derek. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

“I’m fine.” Derek scans the ground near the body, but he can’t pick up anything either. “This is ridiculous. Does he have a fucking witch on his side or something?”

“That would be ironic,” Emma mutters. “A witch helping a hunter.” 

“How else is he completely --” Adrian pauses than stares hard at Derek. “Maybe his scent isn’t gone. Maybe he masked his scent with Dan, and doubled back on the same trail.” 

Emma blanches and Derek feels nauseated at the thought. Covering yourself with a dead body’s scent is too disgusting to even consider. 

“I’ll backtrack the trail,” Derek says anyways. Just because a reasonable person would never do it, doesn’t mean a hunter wouldn’t. 

“I’ll go with,” Emma says, looking at her brother for permission. 

Adrian leans against a tree and waves them away. “Go ahead. If we’re done with the body, I’m sending the coordinates to Laura so she can have the area processed.” 

They go, following the trail. After half a mile it splits off again, away from where Dan was killed. Emma gives Derek a disgusted look. “He was right. Also, this guy is gross.” 

“Yeah.” 

Emma’s phone goes off at the same time they hear shouting, along with the sound of a struggle ahead, and Emma throws her phone at Derek and takes off. Derek sees the name on the caller ID and groans before silencing it and running after her. 

Ahead of them, he hears Nathan yelling. Then there’s a sick thud and he falls silent. Derek grabs Emma’s arm to keep her from charging forward. He can see flashlights and then Chris Argent’s voice saying, “Call the wolves. Tell them we have Nathan.” 

“Did they kill him?” Emma demands, trying to push forward again.

“Hey,” Derek hisses, pulling her away, “Idiot, do you want to get shot?” Which is maybe a bit hypocritical of him, and the look Emma gives him says she knows it. But she lets him pull her out of the hunters’ earshot. “If they have him, then we need to focus on finding Madison. Call your brother back.” 

“Ugh, fine,” Emma says. Adrian picks up on the first ring.

“The hunters found him,” Adrian says.

“We know,” Emma retorts. “We saw it. Derek wouldn’t let me get any closer though,” she finishes, almost whining. Derek rolls his eyes. 

“First sensible thing he’s done all day,” Adrian says, and Emma pouts. “Alpha says everyone back home.” 

“What about Madison?” Derek interrupts. 

“There’s too many police and hunters in the woods to risk it.” 

Derek thinks about arguing, but if Gram made the order, there’s no point. He waits for Emma to hang up and they walk back to meet up with Adrian, Isaac, and Mark before splitting into two groups to go home. 

They’re about ten minutes out from the house when Mark jostles him with his arm and grins when Derek looks over at him. “Hey, how’d the big reveal go?” Mark asks.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He really, really doesn’t. Dealing with hunters and dead kids is enough. Derek doesn’t want to keep remembering the look on Stiles’ face when he told him. Showed him what he is. Or even try to figure out what Stiles’ palpable relief on seeing him tonight meant. Tomorrow he’ll have to deal with it. His mom, or his sister or someone will make him, if he doesn’t make himself. Tomorrow he’ll probably even want to know. Want to find out for sure if Stiles can accept him, or not. But not tonight. Maybe some of that can be read on Derek’s face, because for once, Mark doesn’t push.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Original character death of a teenager.


	7. Thursday, March 20, 2014

His dad wasn’t even a little sympathetic when he came home at eight in the morning to find Stiles passed out on the living room floor using a chip bag for a pillow. He thinks he must have fallen asleep mid search, if the images of actors from Twilight all over his computer screen are any indication. If Allison looks like a particularly healthy zombie when she finally manages to roll off the couch and stumble to her car, Stiles is sure he looks worse. In fact, he’s just going to avoid mirrors and thinking until he has water, advil and maybe four more hours of sleep in his system. Though he wasn’t the one cuddling up to a crossbow in his sleep. Just the one who sent a bunch of increasing illiterate texts to his werewolf boyfriend. 

“Anything exciting happen last night?” Stiles prompts casually, and his dad gives him an unimpressed look. “What?”

“Listening to the scanner again? If you went out in the woods --” 

“Dad! Come on, would I do that?” 

“Yes.” Stiles makes a face. But his dad does say, before he goes into the kitchen, “The Hales have had an exciting week.” 

“Yeah?” Stiles sits up, shutting his laptop and leaning against the couch to see into the kitchen.

“Old family enemies. Trespassers.” His dad gives Stiles an assessing look. “Anything else I should know?”

“Of course not,” Stiles protests, manfully ignoring his dad’s eye roll. “It wasn’t connected with mall stalker, was it?” Stiles asks, and his dad narrows his eyes. 

“Why would you say that?”

“Um. No reason?” Stiles shrugs. “I’m just going to blame lack of sleep.” His dad gives him another suspicious look. 

“Well, Nathan Turner is still at large. Be safe,” his dad says, and Stiles echoes the sentiment before he leaves again. Stiles slumps back against the couch. One more question to add to the list to ask Derek.

 

Stiles wakes up again around noon and drags his ass back downstairs where he left his laptop, because researching the hell out of scary things is his coping process. Though this is a little more serious than finding out which professors to avoid and all the best places to eat on and off campus. 

It’s probably a good thing his dad has to go back in due to the extremely dead body in the woods. He feels a little guilty since he actually knows what happened and his dad’s working overtime trying to figure out who killed a kid, but he figures that either the werewolves or the hunters have some sort of cover story planned. By the time he reaches that conclusion, he’s even feeling pretty okay with the whole werewolf thing, even if he’s not a hundred percent sure it wasn’t a nightmare. Even if Allison remembers it as well, it doesn’t seem real. 

Stiles is trying to decide if he’s ready to be Willow in this scenario when the doorbell rings and he jumps up, expecting the pizza he promised to share with Jeff. 

Not Derek, who is standing at the door holding it. 

“Hi,” Derek says, low and hesitant. 

“Is this a perk of having a werewolf boyfriend?” Stiles asks slowly, as he takes the pizza from him. Derek stands in the open doorway looking lost until Stiles waves him in. 

“You really didn’t have to run away. Yesterday. I get why you had to go last night,” Stiles tells him, reaching past him to push the door shut and trying to keep his voice neutral rather than critical. “Obviously ‘werewolf’ was not something I seriously considered when I was trying to find a reason for why you were acting all suspicious. Until yesterday. I mean, your family has been in Beacon Hills forever, and I’m still alive. No murderous rampages or suspicious animal attacks that I’ve heard about. I know you aren’t going to hurt me.”

Derek just shrugs and continues to look miserable.

“Dude, you look like a kicked puppy,” Stiles can’t help but say, and Derek glares at him. “What, your dad tells dog jokes, come on.” He sets the pizza on the counter and then leans against it and waits. Derek is still standing in front of door, and he looks like he’s preparing for a siege so Stiles sighs and goes first. 

“Did you find the other kid? Omega?” Stiles corrects himself. Derek looks startled, and Stiles crosses his arms. “I listen. You said a couple. Is there another werewolf teenager running around the woods now?”

“We’re still looking for her. The Argents have the hunter.” Derek doesn’t look entirely happy about that, but Stiles relaxes. “And you and Allison are both idiots, by the way. Dead body in the woods usually also equals _murderer_ in the woods.” He glares at Stiles until Stiles nods reluctantly. “The police found the other half of Dan’s body and identified him. The girl with him was his sister, Madison. If we don’t find her by tonight, my parents are going to call the nearby packs to widen the search.” 

“Are you supposed to be looking?”

“I was until I came over here,” Derek says baldly. “I got your texts. And Gram gave me permission to come over and explain.” 

“Great!” Stiles says, a little too enthusiastically apparently, because just like that, Derek shrinks back into himself. Stiles forges on, regardless, because he doesn’t really think anything Derek tells him will be worse than what he already knows. People killing innocent _kids_. Just. No. “My dad will be gone for awhile, so I have a couple hours to unleash all the questions I’ve been storing up since yesterday. Starting with, what the fuck, man, why didn’t you tell me you were a werewolf? Is this a new development, or--” 

“I had to wait. Until I had permission to tell you,” Derek interrupts, then ducks his head and crosses his arms defensively like he expects Stiles to argue.

“Huh.” Stiles taps at his chin thoughtfully, thinks it over. “I guess it makes sense that secrecy would definitely be a thing. Is your Gram, like, the Alpha? Do you turn into a wolf on the full moon?” He grins at Derek, only a little nervous. Derek just shifts uneasily and Stiles throws up his hands. “Come on, man, you’ve already let the wolf out of the bag, you might as well tell me everything.”

“You were scared when I showed you,” Derek says and he looks even more downtrodden now. Stiles raises his eyebrows disbelievingly. Seeing someone’s face melt would make anyone little apprehensive, and he’s not going to apologize for that. He is a little disappointed in his poker face though.

“A little warning would have gone a long way,” Stiles returns. When he leans back, the sharp corner of the pizza box jabs him in the back and he abruptly remember -- right. Pizza. Jeff is probably wondering what’s taking so long, and he really doesn’t want him to come knocking on the door when Derek looks like he’s a second away from snapping or collapsing. He puts a couple slices on a napkin. “I’m going to take these out to Jeff, and you’re going to be here when I get back,” he tells Derek in the sternest voice he can muster, and stares Derek down until he nods uncertainly. 

He pokes Derek in the side until he moves out of the way of the door, and when he pulls it open he sees Jeff with the door of his car open and one foot out, so he jogs the few steps over. 

“Sorry, man,” he says cheerfully. 

“You okay in there?” Jeff asks as Stiles passes his pizza through the window. “I haven’t seen Derek around for awhile.” Stiles smiles reassuringly. 

“Totally cool,” he tells him. “He paid for the pizza and everything,” he adds when Jeff looks skeptical and tries not to sprint back to the house, bursting through the door and breathing a sigh of relief when he finds Derek exactly where he left him. 

“Time to answer questions,” Stiles says, “And then make up sex! Though that is obviously subject to change depending on how traumatizing the conversation is.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Derek says, and it’s probably meant to be sarcastic, but he actually looks as if he means it. Stiles pats his shoulder sympathetically and pulls him into the living room. Derek trails along behind him without protest and Stiles pushes him down on the couch and stands in front of him.

“So when you say, not really new...?”

“I’ve always been a werewolf,” Derek says, a little mechanically, but at least he’s meeting Stiles’ eyes now. 

“So... did you drink out of a wolf’s paw print when you were a baby or something?” Stiles asks, half joking, and Derek rolls his eyes and leans back against the couch, crossing his arms. 

“That’s not how it works. I was born a werewolf. Most of my family are werewolves.” Derek still looks unsure, but impatient, too, like he expects Stiles to catch on more quickly. Which is really unfair, actually, since Stiles didn’t know werewolves were real, like seriously real, until yesterday. Even with his research overload he’s still feeling lost. There’s a lot of conflicting information on the internet about werewolves. Some of it decidedly X-Rated. Plus, last night he had been a lot closer to drunk than not on the Stilinski sliding scale of sobriety. 

Even though Allison didn’t seem to know anything, the whole anti-Argent thing makes a lot more sense. Kate’s still crazier than Tom Cruise, but _werewolf hunters_ makes a compelling reason for the vitriol between the Hales and the Argents. Or at least from the Senior Argents. Not to mention the unofficial patrolling, the crazy weaponry, and the contingent of Hale family bodyguards Stiles has accrued over the week. And this whole thing would have probably been explained yesterday if Derek hadn’t run away like Stiles is the creature of night instead of a (relatively) normal human.

“So, the Argents are hunters. And there are other hunters... and vampires and werewolves and other creatures that go bump in the night exist,” Stiles says, trying to work his way through to the truth as he sits down next to Derek. Since Derek is being annoyingly reticent for someone who just said he has permission to tell all.

“Vampires don’t live in small towns,” Derek scoffs, but he still looks half ready to leap over the couch and run out of Stiles’ house, so Stiles doesn’t snark back, just edges closer. Then he changes his mind, swinging his legs up onto the couch and draping them over Derek. Just in case he tries to do another runner. Derek’s hands shift over Stiles’ shins automatically and Stiles digs his toes under the arm of the couch. He starts speaking again, trying to sort out his thoughts, since Derek isn’t exactly volunteering information. 

“Are they all like Kate and Nathan? Going around trying to murder innocent werewolves?” 

Derek looks -- stunned. He swallows and shakes his head, and his voice is hoarse when he says, “Chris and his … group follow a code. Some latin thing that basically says they only hunt those who hunt them.” 

“And they weren’t part of that?”

“No. He’s... one of the others. They just kill anyone they don’t think are human. Or even humans who are too close to... us.” 

Stiles has to close his eyes for a moment. Just thinking of how many people -- people that he _knows_ , that he’s friends with -- would have died if Kate had succeeded in burning down Derek’s house makes him sick to his stomach. He wonders how many people are still alive because she’s in prison. When he opens his eyes again, Derek is looking at him warily. 

“Okay, good talk!” Stiles leans over to grab the remote and a slice of pizza. “How about some nice soothing reruns?”

“You don’t have more questions?” Derek asks slowly, eyeing Stiles like he knows that isn’t true. And it’s not, really, but Stiles needs a little processing time. And possibly to compile a list. 

Derek still looks uneasy, almost scared -- of Stiles, which is ridiculous and needs to cease immediately. “Uh, yeah, but. They can wait until later. Are you staying?”

“You want me to?” Derek asks, and Stiles almost loses the remote flailing a disbelievingly arm at him. 

“Dude, make up sex kind of demands your presence.” Derek still looks unsure, so Stiles pushes a slice of pizza in his hand and turns on the television. “Unless you have any more deep dark secrets to unveil, then yes. I want you to stay. Actually I’d want you to stay even then. I’m not sure what that says about me, but you are totally welcome.” 

It takes two more slices of pizza, but Stiles considers it a worthwhile sacrifice when Derek stops looking like he’s waiting for Stiles to change his mind and dig up some silver bullets. He even sends a text to his mom so she won’t worry. He still looks a little wild around the eyes, though, and Stiles thinks that probably the make up sex will have to wait. 

 

Stiles wakes up too hot, crushed between Derek’s body and the couch. At some point they must have moved. And Derek always runs _hot_. Like, throw off the covers and crank the A/C on high, and Stiles is still sweating where Derek is draped all over him, hot. He’d tried the hand on forehead thing once, thinking maybe Derek was running a fever and Derek had just given him this bewildered look until Stiles had taken his hand back. He spends a second wondering if maybe Derek’s abnormally high body temperature is due to his werewolf nature before his phone buzzes in his pocket -- probably not for the first time. Derek makes a noise of sleepy annoyance when Stiles struggles out from under him. 

He can see that the sun is setting through the window, which means they slept for most of the evening. Though if Derek was going to be traipsing around the woods all night again, he probably needed it. When Stiles finally manages to escape Derek’s clutches he checks his phone. It’s Allison, so he answers, walking into the kitchen so he doesn’t wake Derek. “What’s up?”

“My parents have mall stalker handcuffed in the basement,” she says, sounding remarkably calm under the circumstances. 

“Still? Shouldn’t they be taking him the police?” he asks. He’s maybe less concerned than he should be. The guy tried to murder his boyfriend, okay, if the Senior Argents want to get their torture on, he’s not going to complain. Loudly, anyways. Derek’s in the next room, and there’s still a deputy sitting outside his house. And most of them have crazy good hearing. 

“My parents decided to tell me everything -- a little late, since we’d already figured it out,” she adds sardonically, “and they just yelled at the guy, and told him to follow the code or they’d uh, ‘put him down’.” 

“Wow, I was right. Vigilante hunters.” Allison lets out a small laugh and Stiles rubs his head and then his eyes. He decides Allison already knows enough that he can spill to her. “Not to mention werewolves. And Derek is definitely a werewolf. He did... I don’t know. Something. And his face went all,” his free arm flails a bit, even though he knows she can’t see it, trying to find an accurate description. “Almost like the vampire faces from Buffy. But with like -- muttonchops and underbite. And claws!” Stiles bursts out, unable to hold it in any longer. “But hey, there aren’t any vampires in Beacon Hills!” 

“Good to know,” Allison says, sounding halfway between amusement and fear. “Is Derek...?”

“He’s here. We talked. Well, I asked questions and he answered some of them. I think the kid in the woods really freaked him out.” He sighs and looks out the kitchen window at the patrol car. “At least our parents won’t be hovering once this guy gets arrested. 

“But you guys are still... um. Together? Even with the werewolf thing?” Allison asks carefully. Stiles doesn’t even have to consider it. 

“Dude, way to be specist! Specie-ist? Hmm...” Stiles trails off consideringly. “And the werewolf thing isn’t a new development. Apparently. So, unless Derek decides to break up with me, he’s kind of stuck with me.” 

“That’s really sweet, Stiles,” Allison says, and Stiles shrugs and grins. 

“I’m a sweet guy. Plus all the hot sex we’re going to have once I get off the phone with you is really swaying me to the dark side.”

“I take it back,” Allison says, sounding like she’s trying to stifle a grin. “You’re terrible.” 

“Mmm, werewolf sex,” he moans theatrically and laughs when Allison hangs up on him. He grabs a couple glasses and fills them up with water, walking back into the living room. Derek is awake, and he sits up to take one of them. 

“Thanks.” 

“Allison said her family took care of the hunter,” Stiles tells him as he climbs back on the couch and curls his legs underneath himself. Derek yawn and nods. 

“I know. I heard.” 

“You can hear that well?” Stiles asks, feeling his face go hot as he thinks back over the content of that conversation. Derek just looks tired and much more content than he had pre-nap, so Stiles decides he’s not going to stress unless Derek calls him on it. 

“Yes.” Derek hands twist in his lap and he shifts like he’s going to stand. “I should go home. I have to go back out soon.”

“You should come back,” Stiles says quickly. “Once you find the kid, or when you’re done. Just... let me know.” 

“Alright,” Derek says. He leans over, indecision playing across his face until Stiles takes pity and pulls him over, kissing him until his legs protest the position. Derek shifts back and smiles, weirdly shy, before he gets to his feet. “See you later.”

“Later.” Stiles repeats and gets up to follow Derek to the door. “Don’t get mauled,” Stiles calls once Derek is almost to his car. Even from across the yard he can see the exasperation in the set of Derek’s shoulder, and he grins and waves when Derek glares back at him. 

Stiles wanders back inside, contemplating the merits of finishing up the last of his calculus, or playing Call of Duty. Then he remembers the body -- the teenage boy -- in the woods and decides to stick with Minecraft instead. He drags his laptop down to the couch and plays until his stomach growls. Between Jeff and Derek he only got three slices of pizza earlier, which is not nearly enough for a growing boy. Growing college student. 

The refrigerator is sadly void of edible foodstuffs, just a container full of --ugh. Some sort of leftover that was approaching science project, along with condiments and wilted lettuce, and he really can’t justify spending another thirty dollars on take out, so he grabs his keys and heads out to his Jeep, before remembering to take a detour to the patrol car outside. 

Stiles bends to peer in the window and sees that Boyd is on duty again. “Hey, man.” 

“What’s up?”

“Um, the grocery store?” he offers. He’d forgotten that even though _he_ knew the hunter was taken care of, the police probably didn’t. And now that there’s been a murder, his dad is going to be hypervigilant. Oops. 

“Make it quick. The sheriff will have my ass if he hears I let you out of my sight,” Boyd surprises him by saying, and when Stiles just looks at him in astonishment, he grins, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Don’t worry, I know. I’m not a werewolf, but I am dating Erica, remember?”

“Erica’s a werewolf? Shit, that explains so much,” Stiles blurts out, then winces. That probably sounded worse out loud than it had in his head. Boyd just laughs at him, though, rather than killing him for insulting his girlfriend, so Stiles continues, “Awesome. I’ll be back in like twenty minutes, max.” 

Stiles basically speeds to the store and blows through it, grabbing bread and lunch meat and cereal to last the rest of the week. And a pint of ice cream, that he has big plans on eating and hiding the evidence before his dad gets home. He’s in the checkout line when he swears for a moment that he sees Nathan. 

Which is ridiculous, because Allison said that her parents have him. He peers down the aisle again, but whoever it was is gone. 

Just to be safe, he sends a quick text to Allison, _Do your parents still have rambo in confinement?_ She hasn’t texted him back by the time he gets through the line, so he sends another uneasy glance behind him before he goes out to his Jeep. The ride home is uneventful, and when he pulls up, Boyd waves him over again. 

“I’m off shift in a couple minutes. Jeff is back on tonight,” he tells Stiles.

“If you hear anything will you call me?” Stiles asks, and has to set his bag on the ground to dig his phone out of his pocket when Boyd nods agreeably and gives over his number.

By the time he gets in the house, another patrol car is pulling up and Stiles hurries inside before he can see the grocery bag and get Boyd in trouble. Plus his ice cream is melting. 

Afterwards, Stiles thinks it was probably the humming that tempted fate. He stores the food, grabs a spoon and heads up to his room to have some quality internet plus ice cream time. When he opens the door to his room, he has half a second to register someone in the room, before a blur runs at him. Stiles doesn’t even have time to yell before he’s slammed against the doorframe and his vision goes dark. 

 

 

++

 

 

Cautiously optimistic. That’s probably the best description for how Derek is feeling. Stiles hadn’t even been nervous when Derek came over, so he hadn’t had to use his dad’s advice. (Which was frankly terrible. There was no way that he was going to hand Stiles a freaking crossbow to hold on Derek while he tried to explain. He’d probably shoot his eye out.) Either way, he was back to treating Derek nearly like he had before this whole horrible break. With a little added questioning. But if Derek had let himself anticipate the best reaction from Stiles, this would have been it. He wasn’t sure if Stiles would go for meeting the rest of the pack, yet, but Derek didn’t think they were in danger of torches and pitchforks. Or even breaking up. 

When he got home, all of his siblings and his mom and dad are waiting for him. Derek freezes in the doorway. 

“How’d it go?” his dad asks, and he can’t help his smile. They all swarm on him, dragging him into a group hug which he falls into with only a tiny bit of reluctance. 

“Ugh, Laura, you stink.”

“Shut up, I’ve been dealing with hunters all afternoon,” she snaps, cuffing him lightly then wincing when their mom growls in warning. Eventually he’s let out of the middle of the hug. 

“Come on, Will has to get back to Aunt Gina’s and we’ve got roughly five billion miles of wood to search,” Mark says, shoving Derek back out the door and messing his hair up roughly. 

“Bastard,” Derek says lightly, pushing Mark away. Even Mark can’t bring him down right now and he tromps down the steps after him with Laura on their heels complaining about having to deal with hunters, search the woods, and do paperwork. 

“Everything smells like hunters,” Laura complains. “It’s like I can’t get their stench out of my nose.” 

“It’s the whole freaking preserve,” Marks says, his face screwing up in disgust. “This is gonna take weeks to clear out. It’s like they pissed on everything.” 

“You’re disgusting.” Derek takes a couple cautious sniffs, but it’s only marginally better than it was this morning when he was on search duty with Emma. He can barely smell Mark and Laura two feet away, let alone Madison. “This is useless.” His phone rings, and they both glare at him. 

“Nice, Derek. Very stealth,” Laura says pointedly, and Derek rolls his eyes and answers it.

“Yeah?”

“Derek?”

Derek can’t immediately place the voice, but she sounds nervous. “Yeah. Who’s this?”

“Allison. Allison Argent? I didn’t have anyone else’s number, but I had to let someone know,” she breaks off, voice ragged, and Derek makes an impatient noise. He didn’t know why Allison even has his number, but if it’s as important as she’s making it sound, he’d rather she just tell him.

“My parents had the hunter in the basement since last night,” Allison tells him, voice steadying. “And he’s gone. They let him go. I tried to convince them to bring him to the police, but they said that it’s hunter business.” Her voice starts off derisive, and now she sounds pissed. Derek can relate. He almost crushes his phone in his hand, has to rein in claws and teeth, thinking of Nathan Turner being free, after he just killed someone less than twenty four hours ago. When Gram finds out -- well, Derek is always glad he’s not Chris Argent, but now it’s ten fold. 

“The Argents let Nathan go,” he says, since Laura and Mark have been arguing rather than listening. 

“What?” The demand comes simultaneously, outrage radiating from both of them. 

“I’m sorry,” Allison says, miserably, and Derek feels himself soften to her a little. As far as he knows, Allison didn’t even know her parents were hunters until yesterday. And she is Stiles’ friend. 

“It’s not your fault. But you should probably call it in. You don’t have to say your parents had him, just say you saw him driving, maybe, or in your neighborhood.” 

“Yeah. I can do that,” Allison agrees. “I’ll let Stiles know, too. Just in case.” 

Just in case. “Yeah,” he agrees, and hangs up with her to turn to Laura and Mark. “Should we-”

“I’ll call Gram,” Laura says. “And I’ll probably be getting a call from work soon, if Argent does call it in. You two keep searching for Madison, but _stay together_. Meet up with John’s group in an hour at Aunt Jodi’s if you don’t find anything.” 

She turns around and starts jogging back to the house, and Mark sighs. 

“This sucks. Hunters suck.” 

“Like a vacuum,” Derek agrees, and tries to smile when Mark rolls his eyes. “Come on, the faster we find Madison, the sooner we can look for Nathan.” 

“Ugh, fine,” Mark groans, and they start jogging again, using Mark’s phone to find the exact coordinates of their square of the search grid. 

Only a couple steps later, Derek’s phone beeps again, and it’s a text from Stiles. 

“Really,” Mark complains, and Derek shrugs apologetically as he reads it.

_Stowaway found at my house, please retrieve._

Well, that was easier than Derek was expecting. 

“Madison’s at Stiles’ house.” Mark gives him a disbelieving look and Derek shrugs. “That’s what it says.” He opens up a new text and sends to Laura, _Madison is with Stiles, going over._

“Whatever, let’s go get my car,” Mark says, and they start the ten minute jog back to the house. “Why would she go to your boyfriend’s house?”

“How the hell should I know? Just be happy we don’t have to spend another three days looking for her,” Derek retorts. Only Stiles would have this kid wander into his house while they’ve been busting their asses to find her. 

 

 

++

 

 

It’s probably only a minute later when Stiles comes to, to the sight of a young girl with matted hair, and tear tracks running through the dirt on her cheeks, rocking back and forth over him. Her eyes are a shade off from the electric blue of Derek’s, and he sees a hint of claw but when he blinks again, they’re gone. 

“What?” he manages to croak. He sees his ice cream tipped over behind her, and for a crazed second all he can think is that he really doesn’t want to clean that up. 

Then the throbbing pain of his head hits him, and he lets out a groan. The girl sobs once, before she’s scrambling back, mumbling apologies. 

“Are you --” he scrambles to remember the name that Derek said before, and hazards, “Madison?” 

Her head snaps up at the name and Stiles tries to smile, though it probably comes out more of a grimace as he struggles to sit up. He feels the back of his head tenderly, but there’s no blood, he’s not nauseated, and the dizziness is mostly gone, so he figures he probably doesn’t have a concussion. 

“I smelled Derek here,” she says finally, and her eyes finally fade to a more human green. She sounds as confused as Stiles is as she looks around his room anxiously. 

“Oh. You know Derek? Or the, uh... Hale Pack? They’re actually looking for you.” 

“It smells like hunters all over the town. And the forest, I couldn’t find anyone,” she says in a small voice. “And Dan-” she breaks off with another sob, and Stiles tries not to panic. Dealing with crying kids is _really_ not his forte. 

“Why don’t you, uh. Have some ice cream,” he offers weakly, reaching out to pat her shoulder, but thinking better of it and drawing back. “I’ll, um. Call Derek.” He figures that would probably be better than handing off a teenage werewolf to his dad. 

“Okay,” Madison sniffles miserably. Even though her gaze is darting covetously towards the ice cream, she does look genuinely apologetic as she says, “I’m sorry I hit you.” 

“I’ve had worse,” Stiles tells her, and hands over the spoon that’s somehow still clutched in his hand. “Go to town, I think you need that more than me.” He gets to his feet after a couple of false starts and makes his way to the bathroom to down a couple of painkillers. 

“Your phone rang,” Madison tells him when he goes back to his room. She’s sitting against the wall with the ice cream in her lap, and now that Stiles sees her again, he can tell she’s probably been running through the forest for several days. He’d like to ask where her parents are, but he doesn’t think he can deal with another crying jag, so he just smiles weakly again and picks up his phone. 

_My parents let him go,_ Allison’s message says, _I tried to make them take him to the police, but they wouldn’t. I’m sorry!!! I called Derek and let him know already._

“Fuck,” Stiles mutters, and when Madison lets out a questioning noise, he shrugs apologetically. Damn werewolf hearing. Stiles sighs and sends Derek a quick text, _Stowaway found at my house, please retrieve._

“What should I do with the carton?” Madison asks from behind him, and Stiles gapes when he realizes she’s finished the whole thing. Though if she’s been running around the woods, he can’t blame her for scarfing down civilized food. He recovers quickly and holds out a hand for the carton. 

“I’ll take care of it. If you want to clean up, there’s a bathroom down the hall,” he tells her, and she seems to be in a better mood after the sugar, smiling shyly at him before she walks down the hall. 

Stiles goes downstairs to throw away the empty container, thinking about making a couple sandwiches for them both, grabbing an ice pack for his head, and then maybe calling Derek. He tosses the sink in the spoon, then freezes when he sees the door is ajar. The kitchen is empty, and he can’t hear anything besides the faint sound of water running in the bathroom. He peers around the door and sees the patrol car still out front, but when he looks closer, he can see Harry slumped over the steering wheel. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. 

_Hunter maybe here_ , Stiles types out quickly, sending the text to both Derek and Boyd, before he creeps over to the hall closet. He thinks that his crosse has seen more action in the last two days than it did for the entirety of his high school career as he rests it against his shoulder and dials his dad. 

He answers on the first ring. 

“Stiles?” he asks, sounding concerned. 

“Dad, the missing girl is here, but I think that Nathan is, too, the door was open and Jeff is... maybe dead or unconscious, I couldn’t check, and I’m in the kitchen and she’s upstairs on her own,” Stiles whispers in one long breath, and peers into the living room carefully. He really hopes the Argents took the guy’s weapons from him. 

“Do not do anything stupid,” are the first words out of his dad’s mouth, and Stiles really wishes that he could follow those directions. He even thought, for roughly half a second, of waiting in the kitchen for his dad to get here. But then he remembered her brother’s terrified face in the woods, and there’s no way he can leave Madison alone upstairs with someone who is going to try to kill her. “Someone will be right there.” 

“I’ll be careful,” Stiles tells him, and his dad curses. “I can’t -- this guy killed her brother,” Stiles whispers again, checking the hallway before he slides around the corner. 

“ _He has a gun_ ,” his dad says, and Stiles really wishes that he could say something comforting, but he can’t come up with anything. He can’t hold his lacrosse stick properly with one hand, so he leaves his phone on the stairs, silently apologizing to his dad. His bedroom is still open, but he can see the doors to his dad’s room and the guest room are still closed when he’s halfway up the staircase. When he gets to the top of the stairs, Madison opens the bathroom door a crack, looking at him with terrified eyes. 

Stiles looks around quickly before he hurries over to her. “Can you tell where he is in the house?” he asks as calmly and quietly as he can manage. 

“D-downstairs,” she stutters, her eyes flashing blue and her hands coming up to clutch at Stiles’ shirt. 

“Okay, we’re going to go in my dad’s room,” he whispers, ushering her along with him as he goes. He prays that his dad got around to fixing that creak in his bedroom door, opening it slowly only enough for the both of them to slip through before he pushes it shut quietly, and breathing out a sigh of relief when it doesn’t make a sound. “My dad’s the sheriff, and he’s on his way here. And so are Derek and Laura, two of the werewolves I know,” he continues as soothingly as he can manage. They both flinch when the stairs creak. Stiles recognizes the sound as the fourth step that he and his dad always remember to stay to the right on. 

Even if his dad gets here right now, the guy will definitely have time to search the whole upstairs, Stiles knows. He takes a deep breath and hands the lacrosse stick to Madison. 

“Hang on to this for me,” he tells her, then scrambles around to little safe that his dad has under his nightstand. Thank god the combination is the same as when his dad first gave it to him in high school, Stiles thinks, turning it by memory and pulling out his dad’s backup gun, checking that the chamber is clear before he loads it with the clip his dad keeps ready, then racks the slide and flicks the safety on. When he comes back up, Madison is staring at the door, frozen, and Stiles thinks he can hear the unoiled hinges of the guest room door creaking open as he goes back around the bed. 

“In the closet,” Stiles whispers, nudging her towards it. It only takes her half a second before she’s scrambling to comply, clutching the lacrosse stick like a lifeline, and Stiles slides the door closed after her then plants himself in front of it. 

Stiles doesn’t notice the sirens until they cut off abruptly. They were loud enough that they’re probably just down the street, and he spends a second wondering how he didn’t hear them before. His dad is probably going to be really pissed at him, Stiles thinks, as he settles down on one knee into the stance that his dad drilled into him, pointing the gun at the door and flicking the safety back off. It’s pretty much against his dad has ever taught him about gun safety, but Stiles is not planning on being shot by a nutcase with a penchant for murdering supernatural people. He swallows, clenches his jaw. 

The doorknob turns at the same time he hears tires screech in the driveway. At least his dad will probably get upstairs in enough time to stop the guy if he manages to get through Stiles. Which is a completely unsurprisingly cold comfort, he thinks as his finger hovers next to the trigger. 

The door opens and Stiles waits, just to make sure it’s Nathan, and not a super fast and quiet deputy. It’s not. He can see the guy’s eyes widen and he starts to bring up his own weapon, but Stiles has zero plans to get shot by a murderous hunter. He shoots first. 

Stiles has shot at targets before, and even went hunting, once, with his dad. He’s not the greatest shot, but Nathan is moving slowly, probably from a night tied to a chair, and Stiles has obviously surprised him. The shot goes a little wide -- the bullet catches him in the shoulder, instead of the chest where Stiles was aiming. But it’s enough for him to drop his weapon and fall back. Stiles stands, keeping the gun level on him and ignoring his ringing ears in favor of watching Nathan’s hands to make sure he doesn’t have another weapon, before he gets close enough to nudge the crossbow away with his foot. The guy looks honestly shocked when Stiles flicks a glance up to his face. Stiles isn’t entirely sure if it’s because of him, or the blood spreading rapidly across the guy’s shirt, and into the carpet below him. He should have done his research, Stiles thinks dispassionately, before he broke into the sheriff’s house. 

“Up here,” he calls, when he hears someone pounding up the stairs. A second later, a Deputy Martinez is in the doorway, and Stiles takes a couple of steps back. He doesn’t lower the gun until the guy is being hauled to his feet and his dad appears in the doorway. 

“Stiles.” His dad sounds desperately relieved, and Stiles remembers to turn the safety on, setting the gun down carefully on the bed before his dad is yanking him into a tight hug. “Are you okay?” 

Stiles nods against his dad’s shoulder. “I’m fine. Madison’s in the closet,” he remembers to add, and his dad barks out a laugh. 

“Good. You idiot,” he adds, exasperation and fondness in his tone. He holds on for another couple seconds before he lets go. “Madison?” he calls, and Stiles turns and slides open the closet door carefully. She looks nervous, still, and Stiles smiles a little at her. 

“It’s fine. They arrested him. This is my dad, the sheriff.” 

Madison creeps out of the closet, gripping the lacrosse stick like a security blanket. “Okay,” she says in a small voice. “Is-”

“Stiles.”

Stiles swivels around, eyes widening when he takes Derek in. He looks -- manic. Hair and eyes wild as he strides across the room to Stiles, but he visibly calms himself as he gets closer and sees Stiles standing and obviously unhurt. Stiles lets out a shocked breath when Derek grabs him into a hug. His arms hang limply for a moment, before he brings them up to clutch at Derek’s shoulders. The stain on the carpet is all he can see for a moment, and he feels like he should feel some kind of remorse for shooting someone -- anyone -- but he doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t. 

 

Movement pulls Stiles’ gaze over, and he can see Laura in her uniform over Derek’s shoulder, face worried for an instant before she sees they’re all unhurt. Then she smirks from where she stands in the doorway. Stiles glimpses his dad hiding a smile behind his hand as he ushers Madison out, stepping carefully around the blood on the floor. She’s still holding onto Stiles’ crosse, and he hopes his dad remembers to get it back for him. Laura says something to the girl that makes her relax. 

And then the room is empty except for Derek. 

“I’m really okay,” Stiles tells his shoulder. Maybe clutching at Derek is less reassuring than he’s aiming for. “Madison is good, too. Really, the only one who lost in this scenario is the hunter. I totally shot him.” 

Derek actually whimpers, arms tightening around Stiles. 

“Seriously, I promise I am injury free.” Stiles quiets then, trying to hold still against the buzzing of energy under his skin. It helps that Derek is holding him in place. 

“I’m sorry that I brought you into this,” Derek finally says, and Stiles can’t help but roll his eyes. 

“Right, it’s totally your fault that a crazy guy broke into my house and tried to kill a little girl. That makes sense,” Stiles says as sarcastically as he can manage.

“If I hadn’t--”

“Just shut up,” Stiles groans, slapping at Derek’s shoulder weakly. “If you aren’t going to tell me how badass I am, shut up.” The headache he’s had since Madison pushed him into the doorframe is pushing it’s way back to his attention with a vengeance, magnified into throbbing agony. And he’s probably going to start shaking from adrenaline crash any moment. Another deputy is hovering around the door, obviously waiting for them to clear out, and Stiles reluctantly pulls away from Derek. 

“Come on, I want to call Allison and let her know what happened,” he says, and Derek follows Stiles out of the room. Laura is waiting in the hall. 

“I need to take your statement,” she tells him, rolling her eyes when Derek continues to hover protectively. “It’ll only be a moment. Why don’t you go make yourself useful and grab some clothes for Stiles.” It’s not really a suggestion, and Derek grimaces at Laura before he stalks off to Stiles’ room. 

“Why-”

“You’re staying at my parent’s tonight,” Laura informs him. “Your dad was pretty clear on that. Now just give a quick rundown of what happened and I can let you go.”

Stiles sighs and slumps back against the wall. “Alright.” 

He tells Laura about finding Madison in his bedroom, and the resulting action, but it’s not until Derek swoops in and half carries him down the stairs to Stiles’ car that he comes off of autopilot.

“Where’s your car?” Stiles asks blearily, and Derek’s face is decidedly sheepish.

“I ran here,” he admits as he manhandles Stiles into the passenger seat of his Jeep.

“Weirdo,” Stiles says with a small smile. Then he groans when the smell of gasoline hits his nose when Derek starts the car. “Ugh, my head.” At least it’s dark now. He has a feeling that the sun would probably not agree with him right now. The pain in his head is warring with the exhaustion he feels, and he just hears Derek say, “I’m sorry,” again, before he fades out.

The Jeep stopping jolts Stiles back to awareness, and he groans again, registering the Hale House in front of them before he fumbles the door open. Somehow Derek is around the car before Stiles can manage to trip and fall on his face.

“Come on,” Derek says, holding Stiles steady for a moment while he reaches past him to grab a bag from the back seat. Stiles feels a little more balanced on his feet, and he manages to make it into the house under his own power. He grins weakly at Diana and Max, who are both standing in the front room looking concerned.

“We made sure no one will bother you until tomorrow,” Diana assures him and Max asks, “Are you okay, Stiles?”

“I shot that hunter,” Stiles tells them as Derek pulls him towards the stairs. “But I’m totally fine.”

“Of course you are,” Diana says, and Stiles turns to squint at her even as Derek ushers him along.

“Was that sarcasm?” Stiles asks grumpily when they hit the second story. “And also, why do you live on the third floor, you asshole. My head is going to explode.”

“Sorry,” Derek says again. “I can carry you?” He's not even being sarcastic, which shows Stiles how severely freaked Derek was. Still is.

“Dude, no way. I’m still basking in my badassery, being carried up the stairs would severely diminish that.” Stiles huffs and climbs the last of the evil steps determinedly. And then makes a beeline for Derek’s room to collapse face first on the bed. He feels kind of bad now for making fun of Derek’s neat freak tendencies in the past, since Stiles definitely wouldn’t have been able to execute his normal trip/hop if there had been anything on the floor.

Now that he’s on a soft surface, of course he can’t fall asleep. He can hear Derek shuffling around the room for a moment, then hands are on him, tugging off Stiles’ shoes and rolling him over. Stiles kicks his jeans off and manages to sit up long enough to tug off his overshirt and actually crawl under the covers this time.

“Okay?” Derek asks, and Stiles claims a pillow and nods. “I’ll be right back.”

Stiles curls up on his side, facing the door as he nods against the pillow again. Now that he’s here, he’s actually kind of glad his dad suggested staying here. At least there’s a slight chance that he won’t be constantly thinking of what could have gone horribly wrong when he’s not trying to sleep twenty feet away from the blood staining the carpet of his dad’s bedroom floor. 

It’s only nine, according to Derek’s alarm clock, but Stiles is totally cool with sleeping. As much sleep as possible. And not moving for at least ten hours. He’s trying to decide on where he’s going to beg someone that isn’t him to make for his celebratory ‘still alive!’ breakfast in the morning when Derek comes back in, carrying a glass of water. 

“Here,” Derek says, handing it over, and Stiles finds himself gulping it down greedily. When he looks up, Derek is stripped to his briefs, and pulling on a pair of pajama pants, not even bothering to turn on a light so Stiles can enjoy the show.

“For some reason I thought you would sleep naked at home,” Stiles says, disappointed. Derek rolls his eyes and takes the glass that Stiles holds out. 

“You know how many days of the week someone comes in my room to kick me out of bed?” Derek says, going over to push the door shut. “All of them.”

The light from the hallway is cut off, and the room is dark as Derek climbs into bed. “Does your head still hurt?” he asks, turning on his side and sliding closer to Stiles, one arm curling around Stiles’ back. His other hand settles carefully on the nape of his neck and Stiles burrows his face against Derek’s chest.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I’m going to consider it a badge of honor,” he starts, then lets out an involuntary moan when his headache dulls to a barely discernible throb. “What-”

Derek’s hand feels hot on his neck and Stiles tilts his head up to stare at him through the gloom. He can just see Derek’s eyes glinting, or maybe glowing, in the darkness. “Dude.” 

“It’s a werewolf thing,” Derek says. “We can take away pain. Unless you want to keep your badge of honor.” 

“Shut up, this is amazing,” Stiles says fervently, and he knows he sounds half drugged, almost slurring his words as his head slumps back down onto Derek’s chest, eyes closing involuntarily. But right now, that is literally the best news he has ever had, and he grins against warm skin. “Really good, thanks.” 

Maybe Derek says something else, but Stiles doesn’t hear it.


	8. Friday, March 21, 2014

For once Stiles manages to wake up before Derek. Like, way early. He’s pretty sure the last time he saw this side of seven AM was when and Scott stayed up all night playing the new Borderlands. He reaches over Derek and snatches his jeans off the floor to dig out his phone and send a mass text to Erica Allison an extremely truncated version of the events of the day before, figuring they’ll see it when they wake up.

He drops the phone on Derek’s nightstand and closes his eyes for roughly two seconds. When he opens them again eyes, it’s to Mark kicking Derek’s door open. 

“Get up you lazy ass!” He stomps forward then pauses and his voice lowers significantly. “Sorry, Stiles. Forgot you were here.” 

“Die,” Derek mutters, and Stiles stifles a laugh. “Come closer and I will rip out your spleen.” 

“Fine,” he says, and takes a step backwards out of the room. Stiles glances between the brothers, noting the surprise on Derek’s face, then the devious look on Mark’s. “STILES IS HERE,” Mark shouts, then smirks at them both and wanders down the hall.

“Oh my god,” Derek groans, and then Stiles hears a shriek and feet running up the stairs. A second later Meghan trips into the room, followed closely by Amy and Jeremy.

“Daddy said you know about werewolves now, so you can come to my birthday party,” Meghan says, flinging herself on top of them. That’s not so bad, but Jeremy and Amy come clambering up after her, and Stiles is pretty sure between the three of them he’s going to covered in bruises. Derek looks indulgent and relaxed, though, so Stiles just mentally shrugs. At least he can ask Derek to do his werewolf pain mojo now. 

Meghan bounces a bit to get Stiles’ attention, and he tries to hide his wince as he responds. “Awesome! If I’m still invited, that is.” Stiles can’t help but grin when Meghan nods eagerly. 

“Did you and Derek get married?” Jeremy asks. “Grandma says that she didn’t tell Grandpa until their wedding night.”

“They’re not married, stupid, they don’t have rings,” Amy says, elbowing Jeremy and rolling her eyes. “Duh.” 

“I want to go a wedding,” Meghan chimes in, and Stiles looks over at Derek a little desperately. Derek’s red-faced and only meets Stiles’ eyes for a second before he’s sitting up and shooing the kids out. 

“We’ll come out and play tag with you after school,” Derek promises, when Jeremy drags his feet at the door. That makes him grin and he slams the door shut behind him. 

Stiles waits until he figures they’re out of earshot, and then a little while longer before he asks, “Did your mom really wait until their wedding night to tell your dad about the whole fur and fangs deal?”

“That’s the story,” Derek says, then shifts on his side and drags Stiles up so he can try and cuddle him to death, like usual. Not that Stiles minds. If that were the case he would have said something a long time ago.

“Is that like -- a thing? Are you only supposed to tell people once they’re in the family? Why were you allowed to tell me? Wait, does this mean that I’m part of the pack now?” 

Derek’s face has gone red again, but before Stiles can wheedle an answer out of him, there’s a light knock on the door. He looks over at Derek, but he has his head buried under a pillow now, so Stiles crawls over him and yanks on his jeans before he opens the door. Derek’s father is on the other side, looking apologetic.

“‘morning?”

“Good morning. Your father is downstairs,” Max says quietly, and Stiles must have looked surprised, because he laughs softly. “There’s coffee brewing. I’m going to drop the kids off, so you should have the house to yourself in a few minutes.”

That’s too tempting to pass up. He wanders downstairs and finds his dad in waiting in the kitchen eating a bagel at the counter, already -- or maybe, still -- in uniform. Surprisingly enough, there’s no one else around. Or maybe not so surprising, considering it’s Friday, and everyone not on Spring Break has a job to go to.

“Hey, dad,” Stiles says. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to check in. And to let you know that Nathan Turner confessed to the the murder last night,” his dad says with a wry smile. “And now he’s in the hospital.” 

“So I’m not on house arrest anymore?” Stiles asks hopefully. He still has a couple days of Spring Break left and he’s going to make the best of them. 

“Well, first of all, I want to know how you knew that Nathan was connected to all this. And if you had any idea why Madison would have come to our house.” Stiles’ mouth drops open, but for once, words are totally failing him. His dad smiles wryly. “I’ll let you think that over. I’ll probably be late tonight, though. Paperwork.”

“Don’t you have deputies to delegate that to?”

His dad looks guilty as he says, “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. Maybe you should have gone to that place in Mexico for Spring Break.” 

“Nah, this is good. I mean, murderers, run away kids, shooting people,” Stiles says wryly. Not to mention werewolves. “This is way more exciting than Mexico. Plus, I’m bonding with Allison. And she’s probably gonna be my sister in law, so,” Stiles shrugs and smiles when his dad pulls him in for a hug. Before his dad leaves, Stiles calls him back. 

“We talked.” Stiles shrugs when his dad gives him a disbelieving look. “I don’t know exactly why she decided to creep in my window -- maybe she saw the patrol car and thought she would be safer? But she told me about her brother. Over ice cream.” None of it is _technically_ a lie, though his dad doesn’t look completely convinced. 

“Let’s sit down and talk later,” his dad says finally, and Stiles nods. 

“Yeah, definitely.” Right after Stiles asks Derek if his dad knows about werewolves. His dad leaves after that, and Stiles stares around the empty kitchen for a moment.

He’s feeling strangely calm. The whole going to sleep early may have more benefits than Stiles had previously realized. Or maybe it’s just the ‘nearly died, but didn’t,’ thing. He even fixes a cup of coffee and makes it back upstairs without incident. 

 

 

Derek is still holding onto his pillow like a lifeline when Stiles gets back to his room, so he takes one last sip before he sets his coffee on the desk and pulls Derek’s desk chair over to the bed. He really hopes Derek appreciates the impressive amount of restraint he’s displayed in this whole business. Waiting nearly half a day to ask questions about real life freaking werewolves, no matter what the extenuating circumstances were, would have made Stiles stroke out in high school. Luckily, Stiles is boss at compartmentalizing. The Kate Argent thing seemed like it was kind of a sensitive subject for Derek, and he has the jist of what went down the last few days with Nathan, Madison and Dan, so he decides to start with some other questions that he’s been burning to ask since Derek came over to his house _yesterday._

“Okay, so first -- can you smell fear? You said you could tell when you did your whole shifting thing.” Derek’s eyes widen as Stiles leans in eagerly. He actually looks a little scared himself. Whatever, the threat has passed and Stiles has important questions that he needs answered ASAP. And possibly more coffee to tide him over until he can go home and get his Adderall. “What else can you smell? Will you show me your wolf face again? And your claws, I barely got to see last time-”

“Stiles,” Derek says, and Stiles nearly bites his tongue when Derek’s eyes glow electric blue.

“That is awesome,” Stiles tells Derek in the most solemn voice he can muster and has to bite back a grin when Derek’s face pinks. A second later one of Derek’s hand snakes out from under the blanket and snags Stiles’ wrist, pulling him back to bed. Stiles goes easily, letting Derek arrange the covers back over them before he drapes his arms around Derek’s neck. And then he tries to focus on the important things. Like finding out everything he possibly can while holding onto to Derek like a spider monkey so he can’t escape again. “So, you were born a werewolf? How does that work? I’m like five seconds away from changing my major to mythology just so I can mock everyone who doesn’t know werewolves are real, werewolves are totally real, this is amazing.”

Derek looks a bit lost for a moment and Stiles tightens his grip on Derek and says, “Come on, what else --”

“I can smell that you are really turned on right now,” Derek says, expression mostly bewildered, but moving rapidly toward smug when Stiles just shrugs. He’s not ashamed, his boyfriend is hot as fuck, _werewolf_ notwithstanding. He lets Derek pull him into a kiss, but he has to admit that he’s not paying his usual amount of attention, because now that he finally has a minute to think about this instead of murderers et al. his mind is still running around at ‘werewolves are real!!!’.

And actually, now he has to know: “Holy shit, is this why you’re all about the condoms? Is werewolfism - lycanthropy? - a sexually communicable disease? Obviously if it was transmitted by spit, then I would already be a werewolf, but-”

“It’s not an STD, idiot.” Derek sounds exasperated, which is a good sign that he’s back to normal, but this is definitely need to know information.

“Hey, these are things I need to know! I don’t want any freaky supernatural venereal diseases, ok?” Stiles takes in Derek’s expressions, and backtracks. “Not that I think you have any freaky diseases. I know I don’t, but --”

“Only an alpha’s bite can turn someone into a werewolf,” Derek interrupts him impatiently, “and I wasn’t turned, I was born a werewolf. The condoms -- that’s just. Humans expect you to use them.”

“Ah, trying to fly under the radar, gotcha. But -- is your gram the alpha? You never --”

“Stiles,” Derek says again, sounding pained. “Can we please not talk about my gram and _condoms_ in the same breath?”

“You said that you would answer questions in the morning,” Stiles reminds him and Derek sighs heavily. “Okay, fine, fine. But you’re answering all my questions later, buddy.” He lets out a strangled laugh as Derek noses against his jaw, stubble scraping at Stiles’ neck. “O-okay, yes, sex,” Stiles says, abandoning his half compiled mental list of questions. Derek is just lucky being Stiles’ boyfriend vastly outweighs any possible objection that one of Derek’s weird _things_ could bring up. Even if some were more annoying than endearing. He knows he has his own annoying quirks. Nothing werewolf level, but he can deal. He is excellent at dealing. “But after sex, you’re telling me everything.” 

 

 

++

 

 

Despite Stiles’ enthusiasm, Derek can’t help but feel wary. He knows, intellectually, that Stiles is fine - more than fine - with Derek and his family. He’s not going to suddenly decide to become a hunter, or move to the other side of the country to get away from Derek. But emotionally, Derek has always learned by doing, not by talking. It’s not helping that Stiles keeps pulling away.

“So, do we need a condom?” Stiles asks this time, and Derek has to blink for a moment before it registers. 

“I... can’t get anything you have.” Finding that out had involved a moderately traumatizing conversation with Deaton that Derek mostly tries not to think about. 

“I don’t have anything,” Stiles says, sounding offended and Derek stops his reach over and looks at Stiles. “And I really want to blow you, so do I need to wrap it up or what?” 

“Yeah -- I mean no. I’m good,” Derek manages to get out, not even managing to make a face at Stiles’ matter of fact tone. Stiles grins.

“And there’s a new one for the kink list,” is all he says, though, before he’s bending back down and mouthing over Derek’s shoulder. He shudders and feels Stiles laugh against his skin before pressing his teeth sharply into the muscle again. “This explains so much,” Stiles mumbles. “The first bite mark is totally gone already.” 

“Do you want--” Derek cuts himself off and feels heat rising in his face at Stiles’ expectant expression. He’s starting to feel like a science experiment. 

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks. Derek doesn’t trust his voice, so just he nods. But Stiles doesn’t move. “What’s up with you? Normally you’re manhandling me all the over place. We don’t have to have sex,” Stiles says slowly, and Derek can’t even say anything, but he flinches when Stiles eyes flick back over to the healing mark. 

“Should I not? If you’re not into that, I can stop.”

“It’s fine,” Derek says.

“Am I being weird?” Stiles persists, moving his hands off of Derek’s shoulders and sitting up. “Just tell me, and I’ll totally stop. It’s just... cool,” he finishes, flailing a hand like that will help Derek understand Stiles’ fascination. Stiles still smells overwhelmingly of arousal and his cock hasn’t softened at all in the interim and Derek tries to find a way to say that he’s just glad Stiles didn’t run screaming in the opposite direction. Even if it means endless questions and being prodded in a non-sexy way. 

“You’re not being any more weird than usual,” Derek finally settles on, and Stiles just stares at him and then gets this terribly knowing look on his face. He grins and drags a hand up over Derek’s hip before taking his cock in hand. Derek rocks his hips up at the sudden touch and feels his face heat again. When he speaks again, he feels like he’s choking on the words. “You’re still--” He can’t even finish, but Stiles takes pity on him. 

“Yeah, dude. Man - uh, man wolf? Whatever,” Stiles says, waving his free hand. ”I’m totally still into you. Werewolf-y-ness and all. Like, I’m so into you, that,” and Stiles grabs Derek’s wrists and presses them to the mattress. Derek lets him. “I’m going to go ahead and blow you now. Which, you know, would be like the ultimate werewolf cootie test. And ugh, did you know that cootie was actually slang for lice?” He winces, and then dips down, muttering, “Yeah, I’m just gonna,” before he sucks Derek into his mouth like he thinks if he sucks hard enough Derek will forget that he just brought up _lice_ in conjunction to their sex life. He tries not to feel pathetic for just being happy they still have a sex life, and just settles back to enjoy it.

For a few seconds, anyway. 

“Wait, so are witches real?” Stiles pulls off to ask and smiles at Derek’s disbelieving stare. 

“Yes,” Derek finally says, and Stiles’ grin widens before he ducks back down. 

And apparently ‘after sex’ meant withhold orgasms from Derek until he answers all of Stiles’ questions, Derek thinks despairingly as Stiles pulls off his dick again less than a minute later. Derek groans and throws his arm over his face. “Seriously?” he asks, voice muffled. He feels Stiles make an apologetic noise somewhere in the vicinity of his cock, but he doesn’t actually do anything but open his mouth. And not in the way Derek would enjoy. 

“No, but I just have to ask: can you go full wolf? Or is it strictly Lon Chaney, Jr. style?” Stiles’ hand slides up to stroke at Derek’s cock in a maddeningly idle way. 

“Seriously?” Derek asks as evenly as he can manage. Stiles wrinkles his nose up and Derek tries not to let his adorable pout sway him. It really doesn’t work. God, how did his life come to lying naked and hard on his bed with his equally naked boyfriend, talking about werewolves rather than having sex. “What I showed you before, that’s what betas shift to,” he finally says.

“Wait, so can alphas change to something different? And what about omegas? How are they different?” 

“Are we actually going to have sex, or -”

“I just -”

“- because I can go take care of this and then answer all your questions.” 

“- want to know,” Stiles finishes weakly and his hand on Derek’s dick slows even further. “It’s cool, okay? I never seriously thought that werewolves were a real thing, let alone that I’d been unknowingly dating one.” 

At ‘real’ Stiles heart does that stutter that Derek knows can mean a lot of different things. And if Derek were sucking Stiles’ cock right now, he might not think anything of it. But as it stands -- no one sucking anyone’s anything, he says, “You’re lying. You... did think werewolves were real?”

Stiles’ mouth drops open. “What the - that’s ridiculous! Okay, no, _obviously_ it’s not ridiculous, but. Look, I was ten and very impressionable.” He stares up at Derek suspiciously. “And how did you know I was lying? Is that another werewolf superpower? Dude, do you always know when people are lying?”

“Oh my god,” Derek groans. He can barely think, let alone find the words to explain that werewolf senses are roughly as accurate as a polygraph test. Besides, he knows if he starts Stiles will want a two hour dissertation on uses of all Derek’s senses and just, no. No. He chances a downward glance and sees Stiles’ mouth inches away from him. Still looking up at him expectantly. Every exhale Stiles lets out is blowing over his cock like the worst fucking tease ever. “For the love of-” he breaks off, thinks, _fuck it,_ and reaches down to stroke himself off, ignoring Stiles’ offended noise. 

“Ugh, you’re so impatient.” Stiles pushes Derek’s hand off and bends back down to suck the head of Derek’s cock back into his mouth, glaring up at Derek like it’s a punishment. And really, he’s happy to tell Stiles what he wants to know, it’s just that Derek has been shot and terrified and worried nearly into exhaustion over the last several days. He doesn’t want to talk. He wants to fucking come already, and make Stiles come, then he wants to sleep some more and just be happy to that his pack and Stiles are safe.

Stiles hand lands on Derek’s chest, nails scraping down the center. When Derek looks down, Stiles is raising his eyebrows in a look that might do a better job of expressing concern if his mouth wasn’t still wrapped around Derek’s cock. Derek tries to focus on Stiles’ mouth rather than their assorted near death experiences. 

Miraculously, Stiles doesn’t stop again, just uses every trick that he knows about Derek’s body to get him off in an embarrassingly short amount of time. When he comes Stiles makes a ridiculous triumphant noise and swallows through it.

“I’m awesome,” Stiles declares, when he finally pulls off, and grins up at Derek. 

Derek shrugs, and smirks when Stiles clambers in what really shouldn’t be an endearingly ungainly fashion up Derek’s body. He flops down on Derek and props his chin up on his arms. “Don’t lie, you know I am.” 

“Fine,” Derek concedes. He thinks about teasing him, just for a minute, saying something about the sex being over, so Stiles can ask his questions now. But Stiles’ hard cock is resting against Derek’s thigh, and both the scent of both of their arousal is thick and the air. And Stiles is just smiling at him. Derek bends forward to kiss his (amazing, terrifying, _alive_ ) boyfriend, and Stiles drags himself forward eagerly to meet him. 

Derek gives himself a few moments to savor this, before he pulls back and says, “Come up here.” It takes less than a second for Stiles to get his meaning, and his mouth jumps between an ‘o’ of surprise to a wide grin before he gets moving. Derek assists after Stiles somehow manages to elbow him in the neck, hauling Stiles up so his knees are splayed on either side of Derek’s shoulders, spread wide enough it’s probably painful. Before Stiles can ask any _more_ questions, Derek hands are on his ass, pulling him closer, before dragging his mouth over Stiles’ cock. 

“Good plan,” Stiles says readily and Derek smirks. Just a little bit. As much as Stiles tries, he’s yet to be able to string together much in the way of coherency when Derek has his mouth on his dick, and he plans to take advantage of that. 

“F-fuck -- unh! Your mouth,” Stiles gasps out, and a second later he says wonderingly, “Gonna be fucking -- jesus, yes -- sore.” When Derek’s hands tighten on his hips he lets out a breathless laugh. He stays like that, holding Stiles up with both hands until his neck complains, and then he slides one hand behind Stiles’ balls and strokes his thumb over his tightly furled hole. 

“F-fuck, gonna come,” Stiles moans, and Derek squeezes his hip encouragingly until Stiles is throwing his head back and shoving his hips forward, straining against Derek’s one handed grip. Derek pulls back enough to control Stiles’ haphazard thrusts, and then blood hot come is filling his mouth his mouth faster than he can swallow. It’s not the first time that he’s blown someone without a condom, but it is the first time with Stiles and he feels strangely sentimental about it. 

When Stiles finishes, he’s frozen for moment, mouth open and wet, eyes squeezed shut, before he wobbles forward and nearly faceplants into the wall, only kept upright by Derek’s hand on his chest. He looks dazed and sleepy, and Derek pulls off slowly. Stiles is pliant in Derek’s grip and he has to manhandle him back down to where he’s lying next to Derek before he wraps them both in the blanket.

“Your heartbeat,” Derek tells him, once Stiles looks like he’s slightly more aware.

“What?” Stiles looks confused, then his gaze sharpens on Derek’s face. It’s makes him feel weirdly exposed. A second later Stiles is grinning like he didn’t just try to strip Derek bare with his eyes. “Oh, you mean the lying thing? Huh. So, I guess it’s not super accurate?” 

Derek shakes his head, pushing forward to slide his nose under Stiles’ jaw. “No,” he murmurs. “It’s easier if I know someone well.” 

Stiles doesn’t say anything, just lets out an approving hum when Derek scrapes his teeth over his throat before biting down lightly. His hand draws an imaginary line from Stiles’ chin to his navel, and Stiles’ shiver is so light Derek nearly doesn’t feel it. 

“Again?” he asks softly, and Stiles laughs. Pushes him away and rolls over so he’s flattening Derek to the mattress.

“Can you stop biting me long enough to fuck me?” Stiles breathes, voice coming out on a gasp when Derek leans up to tug on his earlobe with his teeth.

 

 

“For some reason I thought it would be different,” Stiles says, teeth scraping lightly against Derek’s collarbone as he speaks. Derek made Stiles put on a pair of shorts, warning him that they would probably be interrupted again at some point. Mark had ‘flexible’ hours, and had a tendency to try and sneak up on Derek. Whenever he complained about it, Mark would give some stupid excuse about making sure he’s prepared for anything. 

It takes another moment for Derek to realize what Stiles was referencing, and then he lifts his head up enough to showcase the full force of the expression that he’s heard Stiles proclaim as his ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ face. Which is pretty accurate in this instance. 

“Like, I don’t know. More wolfy. Or something. Hey, I can’t help it, I watch Animal Planet,” Stiles says defensively and laughs when Derek wrinkles his nose in a grimace. In a move that is clearly half involuntary, Stiles hand comes up to prod at Derek’s exposed canines. 

“Stiles...” Derek says, voice slightly muffled and probably less annoyed than he should be, and Stiles pulls his fingers back sheepishly.

“Sorry.” Stiles cranes his neck and Derek gets a glimpse of his contrite face before a yawn surprises them both. He covers his mouth belatedly and gets an offended noise from Stiles for his trouble. “Dude, I have like a million questions, come on!”

“Okay, fine.” He’s tired, but he feels okay cocooned in the blankets with Stiles to answer whatever questions he’s come up with. But now that he has the go ahead, Stiles face goes blank. Derek smirks at him. 

“Oh, yeah! My dad was here earlier -- wanted to know how I knew about Madison and Nathan being connected to um. Dan.” He fidgets with the blankets, and Derek feels himself tensing up. “I just told him that Madison said something to me? But I don’t think he believed me. Does he, um. Know?” 

“No,” Derek tells him. “Laura and Gram will figure out a believable story. I’ll make sure they let you know, so you can tell your dad.” 

Stiles doesn’t look entirely happy with that, but he nods. “Okay. Does stuff like this happen often?” 

So much ‘stuff’ has happened this week, Derek isn’t entirely sure what he’s referring to. “Hunters? Omegas? Non-pack finding out about us?” 

“Well, I haven’t heard about many dead bodies in Beacon Hills, so I’m guessing your family keeps the supernatural shit out of town? Or covered up?” 

“It’s usually quiet here. We have treaties in place with most of the packs in California, and most of us know that it’s a bad idea to get noticed by humans.” Derek shifts uncomfortably. “The last big thing we had to deal with was... Kate.” 

“Oh,” Stiles winces as he says it. “I guess you -- general ‘you’, not _you_ you -- don’t tell humans about your furry secret often, then, huh?”

“No.” The only one Derek can remember is his brother Will’s wife, and only then because they were planning on having kids and Mia probably would have noticed something was up when her kids sprouted fur on the full moon. “Usually just... family.” 

When Derek looks back at Stiles, he looks thoughtful. “But you don’t mind me going to Meghan’s birthday, right?” he asks finally, and Derek feels himself relax. 

“Do you want to?” he asks. Stiles rolls his eyes, but it’s a legitimate question -- his family is loud, obnoxious and completely nosy. He’s pretty sure that he would run for the hills if he were the one being introduced. 

“I have a feeling that question is going to get annoying fast,” is all Stiles says, and the tense mood between seems to dissipate when Stiles knees him under the blanket. Derek pins his legs down with his own, and Stiles grins at him. “Dude, yes. Birthday cake, man. Plus, Meghan and me are bros. Actually, she’s more like my tiny Padawan. That I am training in the ways of everything cool.”

“Bros,” Derek repeats, incredulous. “You mean you’re trying to turn her into a bigger geek than you.”

“Yes. So I’m going to the party, which means you get to help me pick out a birthday gift this afternoon,” Stiles says firmly. “Anything else I need to know about werewolves right away? Like... I dunno, etiquette? I was planning on asking you all this stuff, but you sucked all the energy out of me, and now I can’t remember half of it.” He yawns obnoxiously, not bothering to cover his mouth, and Derek wrinkles his nose when come scented morning breath blows in his face. “Sure you aren’t a succubus?” 

“Ha,” Derek says, rolling his eyes and dragging Stiles into an embrace that points his mouth in the opposite direction of Derek’s nose. Stiles snickers and it turns into another yawn. “Make a list,” Derek tells him, and feels Stiles stiffen in surprise for a second before relaxing back into his hold.

“Okay. Thanks. And, hey, go to sleep already man, I don’t think I can handle you getting any more sentimental on me.”

“You were the one who wanted to talk,” Derek points out. “I was trying to sleep.” 

“Hey, I wouldn’t even be awake if it weren’t for your family. And I had to talk to my dad,” Stiles sighs loudly against Derek’s shoulder and goes even more limp, and Derek closes his eyes, suddenly exhausted. What with the stress and the panicking. And the sex. He tries not to groan, but Stiles must hear it, or see it in his face, because he capitulates. “Oh, hey. One more question and I’ll be quiet.”

Derek can’t help the snort -- doesn’t even try, really, because they both know Stiles isn’t well acquainted with quiet. Stiles elbows him. “Jerk. Come on. You still owe me for the running off and the face thing.”

“I thought I paid you back already,” Derek says meaningfully, and squints his eyes open just in time to see Stiles roll his. 

“No. Sex is not a viable method of payback for epic revelations scaring the crap out of someone or _running away_.” 

Derek sighs, but doesn’t try and dispute Stiles’ point. He just can’t help but worry that one of Stiles’ questions is going to have him finding out something that will be too much for him to deal with. He wishes he could pretend that it was easier when Stiles didn’t know, but even he can’t lie to himself that well. “Fine, ask, then _sleep._ ”

“Have you ever had sex while all wolfed out?”

“...what.” Derek groans. Why did he have to tell Stiles, again? He really wishes his arm was free because he needs a spare hand to knock himself unconscious. 

“You know,” Stiles says, pushing Derek’s arm away so he can roll over and bare his blunt human teeth at Derek with a sad approximation of a growl. He makes his fingers into claws too, like Derek didn’t get it the first time.

“No.”

“Seriously? Never?” Stiles looks disappointed and Derek closes his eyes. Thinks about the good old days when Stiles asked him if he wanted a blowjob in the morning, or how he felt about handcuffs. Not this. Stiles apparently has no shame and continues, poking Derek’s side before he says, “Not even on Halloween?”

“Stiles...”

“We’re totally doing that,” Stiles informs Derek, like it’s something to strive for, then buries his face against Derek’s chest and loops an arm across his waist when Derek tries to move.

“It’s too dangerous-”

“Shh, sleeping now, remember?”

“Fine. We’ll talk later,” Derek sighs. If he’s lucky, Stiles will just forget about it, but Derek isn’t ever that lucky. 

“And you better not try and sneak out before I wake up,” Stiles adds, “I am wise to your tricks.” Derek doesn’t bother replying, since arguing with Stiles now would just make him even more set on the idea. Stiles shifts against him and nudges him with his chin, like he thinks he’s somehow lost Derek’s attention. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me,” he says softly and doesn’t resist when Derek tightens his arms around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I kind of ran out of steam on this fic. I've gone over it so many times that I don't even see errors anymore. So if there's any questions about Stiles, Derek et al. that I didn't answer satisfactorily, please feel free to yell at me.


End file.
